Little Harry and the Mirkwood Adventure
by Azraeos
Summary: HPThe Hobbit crossover. Seven year old Harry Potter, along with an unexpected someone, falls into Mirkwood Forest just as Bilbo and the dwarves defeat the spiders.
1. Chapter 1

Dislaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Hobbit. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively.

**Summary:** HP/Hobbit crossover. Seven-year-old Harry Potter, along with an unexpected someone, falls into Mirkwood Forest just as Bilbo and the dwarves defeat the spiders.

A/N: I have also borrowed one or two sentences from _Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone_ (_Sorcerers _for those of you in the States). You can easily guess which ones they are.

I'm also not going to write this in baby Harry speak, if you know what I mean. He's seven years old, and well educated. Plus, most readers here are older than seven and would no doubt string me up by my drawers if I were to use expressions like "Harry felt _icky_" or "Harry giggled". Remember, he's had to look out for himself since forever. That would harden any child.

xxxxxxxx

**Chapter One: The Stick**

". . . and make sure to clean out the loo. Properly. I don't want my Dudders sitting on an unhygienic toilet bowl."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," said Harry under his breath. What he really wanted to say was "No" but his Aunt would definitely not like that. Chances were he'd be forced to scrub the whole bathroom instead of just the toilet bowl.

". . . after that you're to go to your cupboard, and stay there. We're still not forgiving you for climbing school buildings. Another day should do it, I think. What do you think, Vernon?"

"Right you are, dear, right you are," said Uncle Vernon, too busy absorbed in skimming the newspaper to pay any sort of attention to Harry's problems. Not that he would either way. But for Harry's Aunt that was confirmation enough and she ordered him to the bathroom.

Dudley sniggered at Harry as he walked passed, shifting his bottom on the new armchair his father had bought because Dudley had broken the other one by jumping on it. His double chin (only recently acquired) wobbled dangerously as he munched on his favourite cereal. Harry found he felt too unhappy to laugh.

It took two hours for Harry to finish scrubbing the toilet. He would have finished in half an hour, but Aunt Petunia had come to check his progress and declared, lips pursed, that the toilet wasn't sparkling enough, and look, was that a smudge on the rim? As punishment, Harry was to spend the next hour and a half going over everything he'd cleaned again and again until his fingers became raw and his knees turned red from leaning on the bathroom tiles. At least, that's what happened.

Harry was locked in his cupboard after that, and _still_ forbidden breakfast. Never mind that he hadn't had proper meal in a week. He would have to pick the lock again that night, when the Dursley's were asleep.

xxxx

The next day Harry was let out of his cupboard with the strict warning never to climb school buildings again. Harry didn't bother explaining that he'd never climbed school buildings in his life, and probably never would. But it didn't stop him from wondering how on earth he'd gotten onto the school roof when he'd only been trying to escape Dudley and his gang by leaping behind some dustbins. He supposed the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.

It must have been a particularly strong wind, though.

Dudley was getting that gleam in his eye that said it was due time for some Harry Hunting (he hadn't been pleased when Harry had escaped him that last time and was likely hoping for some catching up) so after lunch was over Harry walked to the park. He hoped Dudley would be feeling too lazy to follow him.

No such luck.

"Hey, Potter," he said, swinging around an incredibly tall stick that he must have found on the ground.

Harry quickly jumped off the swing. It was not a good idea to get cornered when Dudley Dursley approached. He needed room to run.

"Hey Dudders," Harry said back, perhaps not wisely.

Dudley swung the stick even more violently. "Don't call me that!"

"Why not? Aunt Petunia does," Harry said.

Dudley flushed, then almost instantly an unpleasant look entered his eyes. "You know, I heard you have two weeks' detention."

Harry felt his neck grow hot. He hated that he had detention for something he'd never done, and Dudley knew that. He was the one who knew that Harry had never climbed that building. He had seen Harry jump as much as Harry had felt it, but he'd never bothered to tell the teachers that. He had, however, told his parents; which was why Harry had spent a week in his cupboard.

"So?" Harry said.

Dudley laughed so piggishly and so harshly that his entire body wobbled. "You're a freak, you know. Mum and Dad say it all the time."

Harry did nothing. He knew what his Aunt and Uncle called him. He was used to it.

Dudley kept talking. "Harry Potter, the Freak, they call you. Freak, freak, freak, freak, freak." He punctuated this word with a sharp tap of his stick into the dirt. "Just like his parents. Lazy drunks. Lazy drunks. Lazy drunks!"

Rage unlike anything Harry had ever felt welled up inside him. It was one thing to talk about Harry like he was nothing, but despite what his Aunt and Uncle told him, Harry had always felt his parents were good people who loved him. They must have loved him. They had looked after him for a year before they'd died in that car accident. To hear Dudley singing about them so disrespectfully was the last straw.

Harry leapt.

He knew it was only the unexpectedness of it that allowed him to tackle Dudley to the ground. Dudley was bigger, stronger, and nastier than Harry. The only thing Harry had in his favour was how fast he could run, which Dudley could never outdo as he'd get tired after a short while.

But Harry wasn't running now. He was pummelling. He was beating his fists against Dudley's piggy face so much that the boy started howling.

A sharp pain exploded on the back of his skull. It took him a second to realise that Dudley had whacked him with the stick. He toppled backwards. Before Dudley could scramble up and leap on him, Harry shot off in the opposite direction, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head.

He could hear his cousin's straining breaths sounding just behind him. Everything looked blurry, everything seemed somehow . . . _less_. Somehow smaller. Somehow slower, as though he were walking through water. That bruise on his head must have been affecting him even more than he'd thought if Dudley, large as he was, was managing to keep up with him.

Another pain, this time blunt, exploded in the middle of his back. Harry tripped on a tree root and fell painfully. He whirled around. Dudley had chucked the stick at him, head first. For the first time Harry saw the knob at its end, which was what had caused him the pain.

He shot up just as Dudley skidded to a halt in the clearing. Harry held the stick in a defensive manner. "Don't come near me!" he shouted. "Go back home to your chocolate pasties and your television set and your alien computer games and your Mum and Dad and leave me alone."

Dudley stood breathing in large gulps of air. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to live here, that's why," said Harry. "It's better than living with _you_." Of course Harry wouldn't be living here. He'd just said that to get Dudley to go away.

Dudley blinked, and looked around. "You're not going to live in a forest?"

"Don't be stupid, there're no forests in Little Whing ―" Harry froze and looked around. He was, indeed, in a forest. A large, dark forest with trees taller than he could see and soft, squishy leaves covering the floor. He knew he was gaping.

"I _told_ you it was a forest," said Dudley, coming to stand next to him.

Harry got annoyed. "How could a forest turn up in Little Whinging? We've never had a forest before."

"Maybe it was there all the time and we just didn't know about it?" Dudley suggested.

Harry didn't want to admit it, but that was probably it. But they must have run incredibly far if that was the case. "I expect we'll have to find the way out, then," he said. "Which way did you come in?"

"I was following you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is that your way of saying you can't remember?"

Dudley scowled. "I do too remember. And that's _my_ stick. I found it!" He yanked the stick out of Harry's grasp before Harry could do anything about it ― and just as quickly dropped it again with a howl of pain.

"What is it!" Harry asked, alarmed.

Dudley howled even more. "It stung me! Ow, ow! It hurts!"

Harry sniggered. "You're an idiot. Sticks don't sting. You must have scraped your hand against a splinter of wood, or something." Without hesitating he picked up the stick and palmed it. "See? It doesn't hurt."

Dudley immediately stopped crying. "Give that back!"

"No. Besides, you're scared of it."

"I said give it back!"

Dudley's voice was getting louder.

"No," Harry said again. "Finders Keepers."

Dudley roared and sprung. Harry leapt to the side just in time. Dudley landed face down on the forest floor. Harry laughed.

Dudley had a tantrum. He beat his fists into the earth, he kicked his legs at the sky, and he screamed, and wailed, and howled, and no matter how many times he did this he still kept going. Eventually, he quieted.

"I'm not Aunt Petunia, you know," said Harry. "I'm not going to coddle you every time you don't get your way."

"Shut up!" Dudley said, but he looked as if he might be crying.

"I'm not the one who just had a tantrum," Harry spat back. "Now come on, we have to go home." He offered Dudley his hand, perhaps stupidly. Dudley stared at it for a few moments, then hauled himself up. Harry almost toppled over.

"Let's go then, Potter," he said, grinning nastily. "The sooner we get home, the sooner you'll be in trouble for beating on me."

Harry didn't fancy spending another week in his cupboard. "We just won't go home then."

Dudley's grin disappeared. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean if you tell Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about our fight," Harry leaned forward. "I won't help you find a way out."

Dudley snorted. "I don't need your help. I'll just walk back the way I came."

"And which way is that?"

Dudley turned this way and that, looked up, and around, but Harry had long ago realised that everything looked the same. The large trees seemed to close in on them and the paths weren't really paths at all but simply strips of leaves arranged in whichever order they fell. And it was getting darker. "Erm . . ." said Dudley, paused for moment looking bewildered, then wailed.

Loudly.

"Shut up," Harry said half-heartedly.

"I-I WANT TO GO H-HOME!" he howled, wiping fake tears from his cheeks. "MAKE HIM FIND THE WAY OUT, MUMMY!"

By now Harry was sure that Dudley was quite insane, or else he was so terrified of missing his favourite television program that he had forgotten that Aunt Petunia wasn't there to complain to.

Without warning, Harry felt the stick yank from his grasp.

"You're so stupid," Dudley said looking smug, and attempted to twirl the stick around. He failed for two reasons: one, because the stick was too fat and too long to twirl, and two, because it had burned him again.

With a howl that sounded like a dying cat, Dudley dropped it once more.

Harry picked it up. He knew he was grinning like mad, but he didn't care. Dudley couldn't do anything to him as long as he held the stick.

"We're going to do it my way this time," Harry said.

Dudley stared at him as though he didn't understand a word Harry was saying.

_Was he always this stupid?_ Harry thought to himself. "We're going to do it together. And you can't be lazy about it. You go over to that side, and I'll look here." He pointed accordingly.

Dudley stared at him, then, with only a twitch to his eye to show how displeased he was, he moved.

Harry watched him for a bit, then moved too.

It was only then that he realised he didn't remember running into the forest at all. Didn't remember anything treeish except tripping over that tree root. Surely he _should_ remember, as it was obvious that he and Dudley weren't at the entrance otherwise they would have found the way out by now.

His stomach leapt horribly as a thought occurred to him. Had he, perhaps, done something . . . _strange _again? Was all this his, Harry's, fault? After all, he had been terrified of Dudley catching up and beating the stuffing out of him. All those other times Harry had done something strange he'd been scared . . . or angry.

An ice cube slid into his stomach.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no._ If that were true, then . . . perhaps he and Dudley weren't even in Little Whinging anymore? Perhaps, just like he had leapt over two stories to land on the roof of a school building, he had somehow run past two suburbs to get into a forest? After all, weren't there forests in Surrey? There had to be! But then why, if he was so scared, did he bring Dudley along with him? Dudley had been trying to hurt him.

He calmed down after that thought. No, it couldn't have been him.

_Could it?_

xxx


	2. Company Awaits

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively.

A/N: Wow. Thank you to everyone who's read chapter one, let along those who reviewed. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

xxxx

**Chapter Two: Company Awaits**

Where _was_ he?

Harry thought it was daylight but he couldn't really tell because the leaves in the canopy were blanket-thick, and made everything beneath them (which meant everything) very dark.

Not that Harry was scared of the dark. He'd spent most of his life in small, dark places, and took comfort from them.

But this wasn't a small dark place. This was a _big_ dark place.

He wanted his warm cupboard with all its friendly spiders and sock-smelling stuffiness, and no matter if Aunt Petunia was a sour cabbage, he wanted her there. Right Now. He wanted someone he knew. He would even settle for Dudley as long as he wasn't alone.

He had lost Dudley.

Or, more correctly, Dudley had lost himself.

Within five minutes of their looking for an exit out of the forest (any exit that seemed walkable), Dudley had begun (not surprisingly) complaining about the lack of food, Harry, the lack of sunlight, Harry, the lack of drink, Harry, and the lack of any Nintendos to keep him occupied.

Harry had become so frustrated that he'd simply walked a couple of meters ahead, trusting on Dudley to follow.

He shouldn't have trusted. He should have known Dudley was too stupid and too stubborn to follow orders, especially his, Harry's, orders. He should have remembered that his cousin's mind got distracted easily, but he'd been too tired to even think about Dudley's problems when he'd had so many of his own. And now he had an extra one.

He shivered at the thought of what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would do if Harry turned up at Number Four Private Drive without Dudley. He imagined he'd be locked in his cupboard until he became old and smelly, and white from the lack of sun. He imagined Aunt Petunia would pass food under the slit of his door, and that he'd have his very own toilet in there as well. A toilet he'd have to clean every day for the rest of his life until his fingers became raw and his knees became red ― he had to find Dudley!

Harry sat to rest on a particularly comfortable looking tree root. He wished he had some water. "Dudley!" he called, and poked his tongue out in disgust. It felt like sand. "Dudley!" he yelled again.

Nothing answered him. Not even birds. _That's odd,_ thought Harry. There had been birds before. Harry had heard them. But now it seemed as though the forest had gotten quiet . . . and darker.

For some odd and puzzling reason, Harry got the feeling that he wasn't the only living thing occupying this part of the forest. And he wasn't just talking about animals. He got the feeling there were things here that were, _smarter_, than he was. He didn't know where these feelings came from, but they were _very_ unpleasant. He didn't fancy having to walk around with a stomach full of nerves.

He was only very small and skinny after all, and there were surely bigger things than him here . . . Like bears.

_Don't think about it!_

CRUNCH!

Harry jumped and whirled.

That noise had sounded very close.

"Dudley?" he tried.

A scratching sound was all that answered him.

His heart was thumping so fast that Harry imagined it might explode from his chest.

_No,_ he thought, now quite scared, _that is _not_ Dudley. Dudley doesn't have sharp claws that can scratch wood. _

Again, a picture of a large, sharp-toothed bear rearing on hind legs popped into his head. Any second now, Harry would hear a roar, he just knew it.

He waited . . .

After waiting for a long, long moment, his heart slowed. He was being stupid. There weren't any bears here. And even if there were, he had his stick. It was large enough to hold off any bears. Of course there weren't any bears around. He didn't think there were any wild bears in England. Yes, that was right. There was no such thing as wild bears in Eng―

"Chitter."

"Ahhhhh!" screamed Harry, and scrambled up the tree. He scrambled up branches he couldn't see properly, and almost got his foot stuck. But he was very good at climbing trees, as he'd had lots of practise. He always climbed them when he had to escape Dudley. Dudley could never follow him because he was too large to squeeze between all the branches.

Only when he couldn't climb any more did he realise that a tree perhaps wouldn't save him if that sound really _had_ been made by a bear.

At least he had his sti ―

"Oh no!" His stomach plummeted. He had left it leaning against the trunk, all the way down the bottom. He would _not_ go down to retrieve it. He was quite comfortable as he was.

"Chatter."

Harry's stomach froze. That sound had sounded unbelievably close. Right next to his ear, kind of close.

"Chitter chatter."

Harry turned his head.

And blinked.

It was a black furry thing no bigger than his forearm that was staring at him with curious large eyes.

A squirrel.

He'd never seen a black squirrel before. No wonder he hadn't spotted it earlier.

"H-hello," he said, trying to be polite. "You scared me."

Its nose twitched cautiously. Harry held out his hand for a sniff inspection.

Quick as a flash it shot off the branch and darted down the tree.

"I scared _him_," Harry mumbled, feeling very much like a Dudley.

Well, perhaps he hadn't been that horrid. Dudley would have pulled the squirrel's tale and socked its nose. But he wished it hadn't gone away. Now he was alone again.

It got darker.

Much darker.

So dark, in fact, that Harry couldn't even see his hand when he tried holding it up in front of his nose.

But he could see eyes. Hundreds of eyes. Hundreds of _big_ glowing eyes that seemed to get bigger every time he looked at them.

It was going to be a _really_ long night.

xxxx

The next day, stick planted firmly in his right hand again, Harry walked. It was a little lighter than it had been the previous night, but not by much. At least Harry could see his hand again.

He tried to find breakfast, but the only thing he spotted was some black berries growing alongside a twisting shrub, and even he wasn't stupid enough to eat them.

He suddenly had a horrid thought.

What if Dudley had found similar berries wherever he was? Harry _knew_ that he would have eaten them.

Again, he thought of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and what they would do if Harry told them Dudley had died . . . he hurried along faster. He had to find his cousin, and when he did, they would look for the way home together. He also took comfort in the thought that his Aunt and Uncle should have telephoned the police by now, and surely they were out looking for them. Or maybe just Dudley. He didn't trust the Dursleys to tell the police that their nasty criminal nephew (that they'd never wanted, and would surely blame for the current situation) was lost too. But if the police found Dudley, they would find Harry, because Harry would find Dudley first.

He hoped.

He drew a deep breath, "DUD―!" but immediately stopped. He'd stopped because he'd thought he'd heard . . . singing? No, he was being stupid again. Who would sing in this gloomy place?

He tried again. "DUDLEY . . . ! DUD―!" he _wasn't_ being stupid. He could hear singing! It was very faint, but it was still there. His heart thumped excitedly as he strained his ears . . .

"_. . . more sweet than other meat,_

_but still they cannot find me!_

_Here am I, naughty little fly;_

_you are fat and lazy._

_You cannot trap me, though you try,_

_in your cobwebs crazy."_

Harry blinked.

And blinked again.

His stomach jumped. _People!_ He'd found people!

Without thinking he ran in the direction of the voice.

He dodged and leaped and twisted over and under and around roots and shrubs and branches, but it was useless.

The voice had stopped singing.

"Oh no!" he moaned and, in a fit of pique, sat hard on the ground. His bottom was throbbing, but he didn't much care at the moment. He'd probably never find that person who'd been singing. He'd never see his cupboard again. He'd never his Aunt and Uncle again. He'd never find Dudley. He really, truly, was lost.

His eyes felt hot.

Quite without knowing how it had happened, Harry found himself sobbing. He had stopped crying ages ago when he'd realised, for the first time, that no one cared and no one ever would care. Ever. But he cried now. He cried and sobbed and exhausted himself with tears and, in the end, when it was all over, he felt a _lot_ better.

He stood up and began walking very fast. "I'm going to find those people. And they're going to help me find Dudley, then we're going ho―"

"Gollum! Well I'm blest! So that's how he sneaked past me, is it? Now I know! Just crept quietly along did you, Mr Baggins? Buttons all over the doorstep! Good old Bilbo – Bilbo – Bilbo – bo – bo – bo –."

Silence.

"Where is Thorin?" another voice asked.

Harry didn't stop to think. He ran. The voice (voices) had sounded _very_ close. "HELLO!" he shouted, almost tripping over a stray stone. "PLEASE DON'T GO AWAY! PLEASE DON'T! I'M LOST!"

He leapt over a root, dodged a tree, skidded into a clearing ― and froze.

The group of very small, hairy people had been scurrying about, panicked, perhaps in response to his voice, but they all stopped what they were doing now and stared at him.

Nothing, then, "Oh, it's another hobbit," said one with a blue beard.

"I'm not a hobbit" Harry said, thinking it an insult. "I'm a _boy_."

"Well of course you are," said another one with a red beard. "Just like the other one."

Harry didn't get a chance to question, because the answer presented itself.

"Harry!"

Harry turned his head so sharply that his neck cricked. He knew that voice! "Dudley?"

A shiny blonde head and large porky body pushed its way through the hairy people and ran over to him, as much as it was able. It _was_ Dudley.

"Dudley!" Harry said again, before his eyes widened in terror.

Dudley leapt, wrapping his squishy arms all the way about Harry's neck. It was a miracle Harry hadn't fallen. Dudley was sobbing. "I-I want to go home. I want to go home. Find a way out, Harry. I hate this place. It doesn't even have chocolate! M-MAKE THEM GO AWAY!"

Harry choked. "Let go of me. I can't breath."

But Dudley only held on tighter. "I-I WANT MUMMY!"

Suddenly Dudley was no longer clinging to him. Harry felt rough, but gentle hands pry Dudley's arms away.

"There now, lad, it's all right," said the beardless one, but Dudley was struggling. "I. WANT. HARRY!" he screamed.

The others (it had taken five of them to hold Dudley) jumped at his screech and let him go. Dudley ran to Harry. To his relief, his cousin didn't hug him again. But he did hold onto Harry's arm – so tightly Harry felt as though it was about to fall off, but he didn't say anything.

The truth was that Dudley had scared him. Harry had never seen him so frightened, and it was a true fear, not a fake one ― like the one he used to get sweets and toys. Dudley had never needed to be frightened in his life and clearly did not know how to deal with this new fear. Harry understood that, in Dudley's mind, Harry was the only one that Dudley knew. In the space of a few seconds, Harry had somehow taken Aunt Petunia's place. So Harry let him cling.

Despite how Dudley and the Dursley's had treated him over the years, even he wasn't that cruel.

Dudley was family. The only one Harry had here. Without realising, Harry clung to Dudley too.

But only a little bit.

Something had happened to Dudley. But What? His cousin kept mumbling about spiders . . .

xxxxxxx

A/N Bilbo sings that little song on page 198 of _THE HOBBIT_. The other two quotes are from Balin and Dwalin, respectively.


	3. Angels and Fire

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone whose read and reviewed. I'm really enjoying writing this story.

xxxxxxx

**Angels and Fire**

The beardless one had introduced himself first, as Mr Bilbo Baggins. Then the others had followed, one by one. Harry had lost count of all the names, but he was quite sure that Misters Kili and Fili were the ones with yellow beards, and Mr Balin the one with the white. The rest Harry had desperately tried to remember, but he simply couldn't get his head around them. He supposed the fact that all the names were very similar sounding had something to do with it.

Mr Baggins was put in charge of Harry and Dudley while the others wandered off for more firewood. Harry wasn't sure, but he expected this had more to do with Dudley's tantrum than anything else. Harry was certain he'd spotted one of them cleaning out an ear with the end of his beard.

"It's all been a very unpleasant business, of course," Mr Baggins was saying now as he rummaged around his pack. "Lost poor Thorin along the way, too. And here you are, children of men, popping up in Mirkwood Forest with giant spiders and enchanted streams and all the rest of it. What is the world coming to, I dare ask? Why, you're even smaller than me," he said, nodding at Harry. "I should like to know where your parents are, and then I should like to give them a stern talking to. But I am a simple hobbit, and never did like nosing about in others' affairs, unlike the Sackville Baggins's. Perhaps I shall just glare at them, if I were ever to meet them."

"My parents are dead," Harry said.

Mr Baggins blinked. "Oh, I do beg your pardon then. I am an orphan as well. Ah, here we are. I'm afraid it isn't much, but it is all I can do for the present."

Harry gladly accepted the few crumbs of old mouldy bread from Mr Baggins's outstretched hand, then gave half to Dudley. "Thank you very much, sir."

"Oh no need, no need, it is the least I can do," said Mr Baggins, then lowered his voice. "Truth to tell, I've been saving it, but you lads need it more than us."

Harry munched on his bread, ignoring the way Dudley stared, glassy-eyed, into the fire. The fact that Dudley was not eating his bread (had not even looked at it) was _not_ a good sign. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"You may."

"Well, I-I was just wondering . . . what's a hobbit, if you don't mind?"

Mr Baggins chuckled. "I'm not surprised you don't know, no indeed. Now let me see . . . I could go into such a round about history of hobbit genealogy that it'll make your head spin, but I expect you lads are much too young for that. It'll take far too long, and most likely you'll be sleeping by the end of it. Now, the question to ask yourselves is: what is a hobbit? And since you have asked that question already, I shall answer it.

"I suppose we are creatures of moderate temperament and rather large around the middle, though I don't guess you can tell by looking at me. I expect I've lost all my roundness at least half way along this adventure, and I don't wish to know what I must look like now. A twig, I suspect."

He paused for a bit, as though he expected Harry to comment. When Harry didn't, he continued.

"In short we are a simple folk who love a good pipe and eat at least six meals a day. Oh yes, we love mushrooms to distraction."

Harry thought how strange it was that Mr Baggins had referred to himself as a creature; as though he wasn't even human.

"It's odd," Harry said. "I knew there were little people in the world, but I never knew them to have pointy ears, or large hairy feet." Harry suddenly realised that that might have sounded a bit rude, and opened his mouth to apologise, but Mr Baggins's laugh cut him off.

"You are a bold one, aren't you?"

"My Aunt and Uncle would agree with you, sir. May I ask another question?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. Earlier, you said we were in Mirkwood Forest . . . well, where is that in relation to Little Whinging? Only, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, they're Dudley's parents, will be worried about hi―_us_, and we've been gone a really long time. Also, do you have a telephone that we might use? Or do you know where the nearest payphone is? I know Dudley has change in his pockets because Aunt Petunia gives him money each week to buy sweets, so you don't need to worry about my asking you for some."

Mr Baggins was blinking at him. Harry could feel his neck turning hot, and he looked down at his shoes. Had he said something stupid, or rude? He thought back, but he couldn't remember whether he'd had or not.

"You know," said Mr Baggins at last, shaking his head a little, "I think I understood about half of that, but I suppose you are an odd one, as is your cousin."

Harry's stomach had frozen when Mr Baggins had called him odd, then melted when he'd said the same about Dudley. Harry started when he noted that Mr Baggins was staring strangely at his jeans and trainers, and glasses.

He hmmed, then, noticing Harry staring back at him, smiled gently. "Yes, quite odd, but then, I do not know much about other cultures. And I'm sorry to tell you, but I have never heard of this Little Whinging. Odd name, I must say, if that is where you are from. Is it a great area?"

Harry frowned, puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean Mr Baggins, sir."

"Is it large? Is it well known? If it is not, then I cannot help you. I've spent most of my life in my comfortable little hobbit hole, acting the Baggins, and only recently have I started embracing my Tookish side. Hobbits are quite reclusive in comparison to the rest of the world. We do not know much about great cities and the like, and even less about small cities. If your Little Whinging is a small place, than I would not know it. Is it a small place?"

Harry sighed. "Very. But it's close to London, and that's a large city. And it's famous."

"Famous? Must not be that famous, if even I haven't heard of it. But we shall ask the dwarves when they come back. They are well travelled and well learned. They will know more than I, for certain."

Harry didn't bother to question Mr Baggins's odd use of the word 'dwarves'. In fact, he was becoming a little frightened. Mr Baggins had used many odd words while he'd talked. Words that implied . . . _unnatural_ things. Like _enchanted_ streams, and _giant_ spiders, and _dwarves_, when everyone knew those things weren't real. They sounded like, like . . . well like magic. And magic, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had drummed in, wasn't real.

Definitely not.

And _how_ could Mr Baggins not have heard of London? It was one of the most oldest and famous cities in the world. At least, that's what all the school books said.

"As for the rest of it," Mr Baggins sighed, absently poking a stick at the fire. "I'm afraid I cannot help you get home. You see, my lad, I myself am lost. And not just me, but all the rest of my company as well. We have been lost for quite some time and I'm afraid that we shall continue to be lost unless a miracle happens. Or if Gandalf comes to find us. Though I suppose he can be counted as a miracle in and of himself."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Oh no."

Mr Baggins nodded. "Indeed. But take heart. Earlier we spotted feasting and fires. There are elvish folk in this wood I have no doubt, and they are a good people, if a little hard. I do not doubt they would help us if we were to ask. And even if they do not . . . well I doubt they would treat us poorly. At least we would get something to eat."

Harry didn't dare question that . . . _word_. He just nodded.

". . . notch your belt, then," a grumbling voice came, just as footsteps crunched. Two men, one with a blue beard, the other with a red one (this man was larger than Dudley) appeared in the clearing, their arms filled with what Harry was sure was enough wood to last a week, let alone one night.

"There," said the one with the blue beard, dumping the wood by the fire, "I'm sorry, but that is all we could find. Nothing to eat, I'm afraid, though I spotted Bombur trying to lick up some moss. I do not need to mention we're getting desperate, Mr Baggins."

"Indeed not, Master Dwarf, though I do not know what you expect me to do about it," came the grumble.

The other man, Bombur, shuffled around the fire and plonked down beside Harry, immediately going to sleep.

It was only then that Harry realised Dudley was asleep too. He was drooling, as usual, and his pudgy hand was curled around his bit of mouldy bread as though he was afraid some bird might come and peck at it.

Mr Baggins and the blue-bearded man continued speaking in low whispers. Eventually, the other ten men came back, carrying armloads of thin twigs, which each got promptly embarrassed over when they saw everyone else's bundles.

"Well," said the blue-beared man, whom Harry now knew was called Dwalin, "that's enough wood to last a whole winter, if I may say. Now sit down all of you. We need a good night's rest if we're to walk tomorrow."

"Quite right," everyone muttered, and sat down.

"Now that everyone's here," said Mr Baggins, nodding in Harry's direction. "I should like to discuss our two guests, if there are no objections."

"Perhaps we can wait until the morning?" one man, whom Harry was almost positive was named Gloin, suggested from under his blanket. "In case you have forgotten, Mr Baggins, but we were captured by spiders earlier―"

"Yes, yes, do forgive me," Mr Baggins said hastily. "I only meant . . . well I only wished . . . that is, our two small friends are much _younger_ than us, and I thought they might need a little _reassuring_, if you get my meaning."

They all blinked. "Oh, quite right . . . I do bed your pardon . . . thought of it myself," was what came back in answer.

Mr Baggins then told them everything Harry had told him, and there was a lot of the same blinking going around that had previously taken over the hobbit. Harry felt his stomach dropping all the way to his toes.

No one had heard of London.

"I'm terribly sorry, my lad," said Mr Baggins eventually, a look of pity on his face.

After that, everyone went to sleep.

But Harry couldn't. He was now even more frightened than before.

Where _was_ he?

Harry didn't believe it wasn't his fault anymore. Now, he was quite sure that it was his oddness and . . . freakishness, that had caused him and Dudley to come all the way here. And here was obviously not anywhere near Little Whinging or London, because neither Mr Baggins, nor the other men, recognised either place. But he took comfort in the thought that he and Dudley must still be in England, as his new friends were speaking English.

He clutched his stick tighter to his chest. For some reason, it gave him comfort.

He _desperately_ wanted his cupboard.

_No, I will not cry again. I won't! I won't!_

For a moment, he was afraid it hadn't worked because he could hear sobbing, but then he realised it wasn't his own.

He turned to his side. A largish lump under a thin blanket now faced him. It was shaking.

Dudley.

After his tantrum earlier, the other boy hadn't said much. Harry had never seen him so quiet before. Dudley was never quiet. He was loud and irritating but never so still, and now he was crying. Harry had to admit this wasn't so unusual, but Dudley's crying had always been fake before. After all, he'd had nothing real to cry about. He had everything he could ever want. Harry wondered if this was why his cousin was crying now. Because everything Dudley had ever cared about was gone, and in its place was left only Harry. That odd Harry Potter whom everyone hated and picked on.

xxxxx

It was night by the time they all woke up again. Dudley was almost back to his usual self. Except he kept his nastiness away from the others.

Harry, despite being only seven, was clever enough to understand that Dudley was lashing out at the only comfortable thing he knew, which was Harry, so Harry let him. He was used to it anyway.

But it was _really_ getting annoying. Harry was sick of hearing Dudley complain about the lack of food, water, and proper toilets. At least he'd stopped complaining about the lack of sweets. Harry imagined Dudley had finally worked out that sweets couldn't actually grow on trees, and that Harry could hardly pluck a sherbet lemon from the nearest overhanging branch and give it to him.

"I say we should take _that_ way," said Mr Oin, pointing at something no one could see as it was very, very dark. The fire, now reduced to a few hot ashes, was the only bit of glow in the entire wood.

There were seven tired murmurs of agreement, and four murmurs of non agreement. In the end it was decided that everyone would go down Mr Oin's path.

Harry palmed his stick, and felt Dudley take hold of his other hand. He tolerated this for a few seconds.

"Dudley, if you don't give me a bit of space I'll trip over and then everyone will leave without us because they won't be able to see us, and we'll be stuck here forever," he said because Dudley had leaned into Harry as soon as Mr Baggins had pored earth over the fire, leaving everything pitch dark.

Dudley leaned away, but only a little bit. At least Harry could walk now.

They had only been walking for a little while when torches suddenly sprung up around them, blinding them.

For a moment Harry couldn't see a thing. It was very strange going from total darkness to such brightness so quickly, but as his eyes adjusted he . . . found himself blinking again anyway.

His heart hammered painfully hard inside his chest, even though he thought he was dreaming.

A crowd of, of, angels were surrounding them. And they couldn't be anything else, Harry felt sure. They were all extremely pretty, and they were _glowing_. They _had _to be angels.

Dudley whimpered, and clutched even tighter. Harry let him, not having noticed.

They were saved!

Then Harry noticed the bow and arrows, and knives, all pointing at him and his friends. His heart stopped.

He'd been stupid again. Of course they weren't angels. Angels didn't kill people.

He clutched his stick so hard his knuckles started hurting.

He wanted his cupboard.

xxxx


	4. Dreams

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed.

xxxxxxx

**Chapter Four: Dreams**

Harry found himself, most unpleasantly, with a smelly sack draped over his head and both hands tied. Dudley began wailing almost immediately, but after a harsh "quiet" from one of their captors he stopped. Harry thought it best simply to go along with them.

As he was now quite sure he was dreaming.

He had to allow it hadn't been a very pleasant dream so far (except perhaps for meeting Mr Baggins and the others) but since it was a dream, Harry thought to make the best of it. After all, Aunt Petunia would be banging on his cupboard soon and shrilling at him to wake up and make breakfast.

Harry knew he was dreaming for one very important reason: one of the glowing men, right before he'd stuffed a sack over Harry's head, had bent over. Harry had seen two quite _pointy_ ears ― even pointier than Mr Baggins's ― hidden among the pretty silver-blonde hair. Almost instantly he'd remembered Mr Baggins's described "elvish folk".

There was no such thing as elvish folk. There was no such thing as dwarves or hobbits or enchanted streams or giant spiders.

Therefore, Harry must be dreaming.

Which was perhaps why he wasn't as scared as he should have been. Nothing could hurt him in a dream, and he felt much better for remembering that.

Though he couldn't ever remember being so hungry or so thirsty or so tired or so smelly in a dream before.

One of the "elves" prodded him forward ― gently, Harry had to allow ― but he still tripped anyway because he hadn't been expecting it.

He leaned on his stick to stop himself from falling. He didn't have time to feel relief because it was yanked out his rope-tied grasp.

Harry only had time to shout "Hey―" before there was a yelp of pain. He heard a dull cluttering, as though someone had dropped something, then a furious jabbering in another language. A very pretty sounding language. Harry was quite simply amazed at what his brain could dream up.

After maybe about ten seconds of listening to this, Harry noted that one word seemed to be cropping up a lot. "Gool," or something similar to it.

_But this doesn't make sense_, Harry thought, frustrated, _it's _my_ dream. _Surely he should be able to understand what they were saying? He _really_ _really_ wished he could understand.

And suddenly, he could.

" . . . I'm telling you, it _must_ be magic. Wood that burns when you touch it? When it hasn't been lit? _Ai_, my hand shall bear the sting of this for many nights."

"You are thinking like an orc," said a voice to Harry's right. "Dwarves do not have magic."

"Then what do you call that stick? . . . No, I am wrong. Look, it is not even a stick. Sticks do not grow that big. It is a staff."

"A wizard's staff," said another voice.

"Pah, _a wizard's staff_, he says. And I suppose that dwarf stole it from a wizard? Dwarves are too loud and clumsy to sneak up on wizards."

"They snuck up on us, Lólindir, and we are elves," said yet another voice.

All the other voices seemed to pause.

Then, "You are right, my lord. Forgive me."

The other voice laughed gently. "There is nothing to forgive, my friend. But we have wasted time with endless chatter. My father wishes to see the trespassers, and he is not a patient elf. Come."

"The staff, my lord?"

Pause, then, "We cannot leave it here. My father will wish to examine it. If it really is a wizard's staff, albeit a smaller one . . . wrap your cloak about it. If the burning persists, we shall ask the dwarf to pick it up."

It took Harry a bit to work out that the head elf (as Harry had taken to calling him in his mind) had switched back to English. _They're talking about me_, he realised. _But I'm not a dwarf._

"I would not trust him, my lord," another elf said in that other language. "If that staff really is a wizard's staff and if it does no harm to the dwarf . . . perhaps a wizard has given it to him? Perhaps anyone who touches it besides the dwarf becomes injured?"

"If that is the case . . ." said the head elf.

The sack was suddenly yanked off Harry's head.

Five faces stared down as Harry stared up. Five incredulous looking faces.

"Unless dwarves have decided to start cutting their beards. . ." said one on the left.

". . . then this is no dwarf," another on the right finished. "How could we have missed―?"

"It is a child," said the one in the middle, and Harry recognised the voice as belonging to the head elf. He was extremely handsome. Of course, they all were, but this one was handsomer than the others.

"Of course I'm a child," snapped Harry, finally annoyed.

Eyebrows rose and mouths gaped.

Harry suddenly got the very peculiar feeling (though he had no idea where it came from) that elves weren't usually supposed look so stupid.

Then finally, Lólindir (Harry thought that was his name) closed his mouth, and said, "He spoke . . . elvish."

_Oh no_, Harry thought miserably, then he remembered. "So what, it's my dream, I can speak whatever I want."

"Indeed," said the head elf. He looked as though he might be smiling. Then he kneeled beside Harry and cocked his head. Harry suddenly felt very much like an animal on display at a zoo. "You are very small," he said at last.

"Well I am a boy, Mister Lord, sir" Harry said, not really understanding.

The others laughed.

"I am called Legolas," said the head elf. "May we have your name?"

"I-it's Harry, sir" said Harry, suddenly embarrassed to be the centre of attention, which had never happened to him before. Unless he got in trouble because of Dudley. "Harry Potter."

"Two names. How unusual. The race of men is not known to have thus."

Harry frowned. "But, I'm not a man."

Mr Legolas looked puzzled. "You are not a man?"

Harry sighed shortly. "I keep telling you I'm a boy!"

This time the laughter was very loud. It reminded Harry of a babbling brook. Not that he knew what a babbling brook sounded like, but that's what it reminded him of. It made him feel very warm and pleasant.

Then Mr Legolas began untying his bonds. "You are an odd one, and I do not just mean your leggings and tunic, nor those frames of glass on your face."

"What about my friends?" Harry asked as Mr Legolas stood up and handed the rope to another elf. "And why do you all keep staring at me?"

"Why do we keep staring at you? Well, we have not seen a child in a long _long_ time. Let alone one who is of the race of men, and who can, quite mysteriously, speak very correct elvish, _and_ carries a wizard's staff. I suppose we stare because you are a riddle to us, Harry, and if elves love anything it is a good bit of riddling. You will permit me to call you by your given name?"

Harry nodded.

"As for your friends ― they interrupted our merrymaking, and that is a sacred pastime for elves."

"But not all of them didn't! Dudley didn't! And I'm sure the others didn't mean to either. We're all very hungry, you see."

But Mr Legolas was frowning thoughtfully. "Dudley?"

"My cousin! You've put a sack over him, too, and he can barely breathe as it is."

"Another child?"

Harry pointed.

Legoals quickly motioned for Dudley's captor to take off the sack, then he himself bent to untie Dudley's hands.

Harry thought that Dudley was being incredibly well-behaved as all this went on ― until the rope was loose then he ran, almost tripping, to Harry. Harry accepted that by morning he might not be able to feel his arm, but he could care less at the moment.

"What about my other friends?" Harry asked as Mr Legolas knelt in front of him again.

"They shall not be untied, Harry. And that is my final word on the matter."

Harry didn't think that was very fair at all. Mr Legolas must have noticed because his eyes gentled. "The palace is not very far, and they shall not be in discomfort for long, for elves are above all fair and gentle creatures. We do not hurt unnecessarily. Come," he stood, offering Harry a hand. Harry stared at it, then gave him the one Dudley wasn't holding onto.

"What about my stick?" Harry questioned.

Mr Legolas's whole body seemed to pause. Harry was reminded of Mr Tibbles, his batty neighbour Mrs Figgs' cat, and how he'd payed special attention to the mouse he'd seen skulking about the road. All his fur had stood on end and he'd gone very very still and quiet.

At last, Mr Legolas said, "Calaelen," and an elf bent to pick up Harry's stick. Though he threw a cloak over it first and then, very hesitantly, lifted it with the tips of his fingers. He threw a triumphant look at Mr Legolas when nothing happened. Mr Legolas looked at Harry. "Does that answer your question?"

Harry nodded, and knew better than to say no. He knew he wouldn't get his stick back until Mr Legolas's very important father looked over it first. "Yes thanks."

It wasn't that far to the palace.

Dudley whimpered the whole way and clutched Harry's hand even tighter, but that was getting normal.

Harry no longer imagined he was dreaming. No, he definitely didn't, because he'd tripped earlier and fallen awkwardly, and painfully, onto his ankle. If Mr Legolas hadn't been holding onto him, Harry knew that he would now have even more scrapes.

Dreams weren't supposed to hurt, Harry had reasoned, so he couldn't be dreaming.

But now he was even more confused than before. If he wasn't dreaming, than that left him right where he'd started. Harry was feeling very small and very stupid at the moment, perhaps because he now decided that whatever happened he, Harry, would go along with it. If this all turned out to be real . . . if elves and dwarves and enchanted streams and giant spiders and sticks that burned and funny hobbit creatures were real, than that meant Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had lied to him for six years.

Harry felt extremely happy at the thought, and clutched Mr Legolas's hand tighter without knowing it. Mr Legolas smiled down at him with kind blue eyes and Harry smiled back. Mr Legolas, Harry decided, was the nicest person Harry had ever met.

They continued walking. Eventually, they came next to a small bridge, which cold black water swirled under. Further from the bridge was a large gate standing over the entrance to an equally large cave. Harry's mind got a flash of sharp claws and loud growls, until he told it to stop being stupid.

There were no such things as bears in those caves.

Even Harry, young though he was, knew that was the truth. All a person had to do was look at the gate to know that.

Bears couldn't build such pretty gates like that. They were too stupid.

Mr Legolas stepped onto the bridge with one foot, and left it there. Harry remembered, from a school video his class had watched once, that ballet dancers stood like that. Then, still holding Harry's hand, he walked forward. Harry, knowing there was nothing to be scared of with Mr Legolas there, stepped confidently onto the bridge ― and was just as quickly yanked back.

He made a grab for Mr Legolas's hand, but he was already too far backwards.

"Ow!" he yelped as he tripped once more and landed on his bottom. "Dudley!"

But Dudley, having let go of his hand, was now trying to appear as small as possible on the ground beside Harry. It wasn't working.

"What are you playing at?" Harry asked furiously, as he stood and dusted off his bottom.

"I'm not crossing _that_!" Dudley said stubbornly.

Harry recognised that tone. He heard it every day at least ten times. It was the tone Dudley used when he wanted something, and wouldn't stop being Dudleyish until he got it. Soon, Dudley would start crying, than howling, than throwing a tantrum. What would Mr Legolas think then? Would he abandon Harry, out of disgust at Dudley's rudeness?

"Shut up," Harry snapped, too angry to pay attention to the people around them. "Stop being so scared. It's only a bridge."

Dudley drew himself up. "I am _not_ scared, Potter."

Harry knew this was a lie because Dudley was trembling. "Then why don't you want to cross the bridge?"

He half expected Dudley to start wailing, but the boy hunched even more over and refused to say anything else.

Hot anger churned in his stomach. It was just like Dudley to be so uncooperative. "I wish you'd just go to sleep. You're much nicer then."

As soon as Harry said the words he had to leap back.

Dudley had toppled over onto the leaves, making a spectacular crunching noise. Snores came instantly. Snores that sounded like lions with particularly stuffy noses.

"What?" Harry breathed, and looked dazedly around. He wasn't seeing anything.

Warm hands touched his shoulder and turned him gently around. Harry looked up at Mr Legolas.

He smiled down kindly. "There is no need to fear, Harry. We know you are special. In fact, I am even beginning to think that you are not a child of man, as is your cousin."

"But―" said Harry, not understanding. Finally, and after a few more buts, he said "But what about Dudley? Are we going to leave him here?" As much as Harry hated his cousin, he wouldn't wish for him to stay in this creepy forest. He wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"We shall simply carry him," said Mr Legolas.

Harry urged to point out that Dudley was extremely heavy and would probably break their backs, but he stopped himself when an elf walked over and calmly picked up his cousin as though Dudley was nothing more than a sack of feathers.

"Wow," Harry breathed. "You're really strong."

The elf grinned at him, then, with Dudley still in his arms, quickly crossed the bridge and into the, now, open gate.

Harry suddenly felt something large under his arms and was just as quickly lifted up and settled against a tall body. He gasped in surprise, because he couldn't remember anyone ever carrying him like this.

It was warm and pleasant and like coming home and, and . . . Harry sighing, buried his head in Mr Legolas's shoulder. He smelled of earth and far away places and happiness and green. Harry knew that these things didn't usually have a smell, but they did on Mr Legolas. The cloth under his cheek was cool and smooth and extremely comfortable. The arms holding him were familiar and strong. Harry felt as though he'd been held in them before, but that was stupid. Perhaps his father had held him like this when Harry was very small? Harry knew, really really knew, that he was the safest he'd ever been. Ever.

He felt a hand stroke his hair, and a gentle voice close to his ear saying, "We must hasten."

As Mr Legolas ran across the bridge, Harry felt his eyes closing. It was very comfortable. It was even better than riding in a car. He wasn't bounced or jarred. It was as though Mr Legolas wasn't even touching the ground.

Just after they stepped through the gate, Harry, very willingly, fell asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Harry hears, "Gool". It was actually "Gúl" which means magic in elvish.


	5. The Woodland King

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and especially reviewed. You guys put a jump in my step.

xxxxxxx

**Chapter Five: The Woodland King**

Harry was snuggled very warmly into something big and comfortable and did not particularly want to let go of that comfort, but something was telling him to. He lingered between that hazy state of half dreaming half awake. The state quickly dissolved, leaving only a stern voice.

". . . three times pursue and trouble my people in the forest and rouse the spiders with your riot and clamour? After all the disturbance you have made I have a right to know what brings you here, and if you will not tell me now, I will keep you all in prison until you have sense and manners!"

There was a terrible outcry. Harry peeked over Mr Legolas's shoulder and through his hair (he took a moment to sniff the cool, flowery scent), and saw his friends, now de-bagged though still tied, looking angry and confused and very, very tired. If they felt anything like Harry was feeling now, then no doubt they were hungry as well. His eyes widened when he didn't spot Mr Baggins. Harry was one of those children who were intelligent enough not to say anything in these sorts of situations (even though he'd never been in one before), and he didn't. Not even to Mr Legolas, who was the nicest person in the world.

". . . in a separate cell," said the voice again. "They may have food and drink but they shall not be allowed to pass the doors of their little prisons until one of them, at least, is willing to tell me all I wish to know."

Mr Legolas turned to the side to direct some guards and Harry was finally able to see the person belonging to that voice.

He would have gasped, but for the fact that Mr Legolas would have heard him.

The man ― no elf ― was extremely pretty, almost even more than Mr Legolas, which Harry thought was a miracle. He simply must have been a king because he sat on a white wooden throne and wore a crown. Harry scrunched his nose when he noted the red leaves and berries. Weren't crowns supposed to be made out of gold? Gold didn't turn rotten, as Harry suspected this crown would. At least, if the king ever got hungry, he'd have something to eat (whether nice or not).

Harry imagined having a crown exactly like that one, and popping the red berries into his mouth to feed his growling stomach. He could taste the sweet juice right now. He imagined it sliding down his throat and into . . . his stomach clenched and gurgled and Harry once more slumped tiredly against Mr Legolas.

He was so hungry and thirsty. He was more hungry and thirsty than he'd ever been, even when he'd spent that entire week in his cupboard. But Harry had never had to run in his cupboard. Or stress. Or be lost. Or worry about getting home.

His cupboard was his home.

This place wasn't. It wasn't his home. It would never be his home. And no matter how nice the people were ― no matter how much Harry wished he could have real friends like Mr Legolas and Mr Baggins and the dwarves ― he could never call it home.

He could never call anywhere home, Harry realised suddenly, not even his cupboard because it didn't really belong to him. It belonged to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They owned it and they owned Harry. Harry's greatest fear was that they'd throw him out one day, just like they threw out all the rest of the old stuff they owned. The fact that he was a person was the only thing saving him.

"Harry?" Mr Legolas said, jolting him. "I feel you are not asleep."

"No," Harry mumbled, squashing his face even more into the elf's shoulder. There was no point in lying.

There was silence for the longest of times ― so long that Harry was almost beginning to doze ― until he felt a gentle pressure against his hair. A hand. "The king wishes to speak to you, Harry. He is very curious about you."

Harry didn't especially want to be the object of anyone's curiosity, especially a king's, and it made him very nervous. But he still turned and looked at the face of the one holding him. Once again, he was struck by Mr Legolas's prettiness, and how kind his eyes were. No one had ever looked at Harry like that.

As if they really cared.

Mr Legolas must have sensed his hesitation. "Have no fear. My father is not as terrible as he sometimes appears. To those who do not share our elvish blood he can be intimidating." He licked his lip. "But he only wishes to speak to you, nothing more. I promise nothing will happen that you do not wish to have happen. I will stay with you always."

"What about Dudley?" was all Harry could think to say to that. He didn't know it yet, and was too young to understand, but what Mr Legolas had just said had endeared Harry to him for all time.

"He sleeps still."

Harry turned to where Mr Legolas was pointing and saw Dudley, large as ever, curled up on the floor beside an elf guard's feet, his head pillowed on a thickly folded-up blanket.

"Oh. Okay, then," he said at last.

He suspected, though, that wanting to speak wasn't the only reason why Mr Legolas's father wished to see him. Harry was brave, he knew that. He had to be, to put up with Dudley and his gang. But occasionally he wanted assurance, and he never got it up until now. Mr Legolas smiled at him, and Harry knew he didn't have anything to be afraid of.

It was only when the elf began walking up to the king that Harry realised what he'd failed to see before.

Mr Legolas's father was a king.

That meant Mr Legolas was a prince!

He stared anew at the elf. Mr ― no _Prince_ Legolas ― looked very like royalty, Harry to admit, and he wondered why he'd never seen it before.

At last they stopped.

He felt strong arms slip under his own and gently lift him up, away, and down until his feet (swallowed in Dudley's cast off trainers) rested upon the shiny floor. For a reason that was beyond his seven-year-old brain to understand, Harry got the urge to press himself into Mr Legolas's strong leg and shy away from looking at the throne. He was certainly small enough to do so. He had never, ever, got this urge before and it puzzled him.

He did _not_ give into it.

He was _Harry_ Potter, not _Baby_ Potter.

But it never did occur to him that he was still a very small child, and so, would be exempted from looking foolish if he ever again felt the desire to press himself into Mr Legolas's leg.

Still, Harry was too brave for that.

Also still, he appreciated very much Mr Legolas's hand resting gently on his back.

"Ahh, and here is our young visitor," said the king as Harry looked him in the eye for the first time. He noted instantly that he was being spoken to in Elvish. "How are you?"

Harry blinked, and lied. "I'm fine, Your Majesty."

The king's gaze was very weighty as it collided with Harry's. "I do not believe you, young one. I believe you are very hungry, and very thirsty, and very tired." Harry felt himself nodding in agreement. "You shall eat and bathe and sleep as your first priority, only _then_ shall we continue this talk." The king finally smiled. "Is that agreeable?"

Slowly, Harry grinned. Mr Legolas had been right. Harry had had nothing to fear.

"Yes please."

xxxxxx

Harry, hand in Mr Legolas's, was directed down narrow arched hallways carved out of the very stones of the cave (and which were brimming with red torches), to a comfortable chamber with a small window. He and Dudley would be sharing the room.

Dudley's elf guard carried him over to the bed by the window and covered him with a sheet. Then, at Mr Legolas's nod, walked out of the room and closed the door.

Mr Legolas kneeled down beside him so that they were now on eye level. "Wilwarin shall bring some hot food from the kitchens as it is long past supper now. In the meantime, I will draw you a bath."

Harry took a moment to process that. "I . . . I always give myself a bath."

Mr Legolas smiled and the whole room lit up. "Then you shall continue to do so, if that is your wish."

There was a knock at the door and Mr Legolas went to open it. Five elves, two of whom were girls, carried in each hand a wooden bucket of steaming water which they then pored into a silver bathtub that sat in the left corner of the room.

With that done they smiled at Harry and walked out as quickly as they had come in. Mr Legolas shut the door behind them.

Harry watched the steam in the tub drift in long, lazy swirls all the way to the ceiling.

It looked extremely tempting. Staring at that water, Harry was very conscious of just how dirty he must be.

_And Mr Legolas had carried me._

But he hadn't seemed to mind, Harry pointed out to himself.

He turned to watch the elf.

Mr Legolas was now standing next to the tub. From a shelf on the wall above the tub he took down a brown pot and, lifting its lid, scooped out three gigantic spoonfuls of purple powder and dumped them into the water.

Instantly, a flowery smell invaded the room and Harry breathed deep. He smiled sleepily.

Mr Legolas was suddenly there, in front of him. He knelt down. "Do you need help?"

Harry shook his head and stared his shoes. No one had ever asked him that before. "No thank you."

Mr Legolas made a small sound but when Harry looked up his face was the same as it was before. "Yet I will stay in the room," he told Harry. "In case you do need help."

"You have to close your eyes," Harry said.

Legolas grinned and stood up. "Of course . . . shall I close them now?"

Harry stared at him. "_Yes_ . . . er, Your Majesty, sir."

Harry was worried that he'd offended the elf, but Mr Legolas only laughed softly and turned away. Every time he heard this laughter Harry felt pleasant warmth in his chest. Like sun shining on bare skin, except that this time it shone from the inside out.

When everything was off except Dudley's too huge jeans, Harry took a peek at the silent figure facing the door. He hadn't moved. Harry slipped the jeans off, hurried to the bath, and sat in the water.

He sighed. Comfortable didn't come close to describing how he felt at the moment. The warmth of the water lapped at him, licking away the dirt and the stress. It was almost hypnotic . . .

"Do you need assistance, Harry?"

Harry jerked. He had begun dozing. "I can wash myself." Of course he could, he'd been doing it ever since he could remember. He supposed Aunt Petunia must have washed him when he was much younger, but Harry didn't remember that far back.

"Very well." Mr Legolas began scooping up Harry's discarded clothes and putting them in a pile by the door. "You will find a cloth next to the soap."

Harry turned to his right and saw both items, as well as some thin wooden bottles, sitting on a little protruding shelf just next to his shoulder. He picked up the cloth and soap and rubbed them together until a thick layer of pink cream covered everything, then he set about to wash himself.

"When you have finished that," said Mr Legolas, now pottering around something in the farthest corner of the room, "there is a special potion for you to put in your hair. It is the largest wooden container."

_Shampoo._

Harry took it off the shelf, unbottled it, and gave a great sniff.

That same cool flowery scent he'd smelled in Mr Legolas's hair shot up his nose. He tipped the lid and put the bottle back.

"What about Dudley?" Harry asked.

Mr Legolas seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. "When he awakens he will be attended to. You do not much like your cousin."

It wasn't a question. "No. But then he doesn't much like me, either," Harry said.

Mr Legolas laughed again.

It seemed to Harry a long while by the time he finally finished washing his body. So much mucky stuff had come off his skin that Harry didn't particularly want to sit in the water anymore.

"I'm going to stand up now," he told Mr Legolas.

"Oh yes?" he answered.

"And I'm going to wash my hair," Harry added.

Harry had expected an "Oh yes" again, but was disappointed. "As to that, you will need my help to rinse your hair. The pail is very heavy. Far too heavy for such a little one."

Harry bit his lip. Mr Legolas was very right. He'd never used the tub at the Dursley's place, only the shower. And even if he had . . . well the Dursley's tub had a nozzle that Harry, if he so chose, could stick his head under to rinse out the suds (not that he ever did). But this tub didn't have a nozzle, only a bucket.

"All right," he said at last, but he turned pink as he did so. He had never needed anybody's help before. He was too used to doing things all on his own.

So Harry stayed in the tub and washed his crusty hair. He rubbed and scrubbed so hard that he began to get dizzy. At last, when his hands were so tired he couldn't even lift them, he spoke: "I'm ready."

Mr Legolas turned, smiling kindly, and walked forward. In his hand he held a bucket of warm water that the other elves had left by the door on their way out.

Harry tipped his head back, knees folded to his chest, and waited.

_Splosh._

It was the best feeling in the world, having that warm water plash over him like that. Over his eyes and forhead and down his face, streaming through his hair. It was so good, in fact, that Harry fell asleep again. Only for a second. Mr Legolas caught him before he could slide completely into the water. "Sorry," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"There is no need to be."

Then those gentle fingers combed the suds out of his hair and Harry could feel himself dozing again. He was incredibly tired, and it all felt so nice.

Quite without knowing how it had happened, Harry was wrapped in a large warm blanket and lifted out of the tub. Then he was deposited next to the bed and briskly rubbed until he was glowing. Something light and cottonish was slipped over his head and Harry instinctively raised his arms.

The cottony thing smelled like Mr Legolas, and when Harry looked down he could see he was wearing, not a nightgown as he had first assumed, but a shirt. One just like Mr Legolas had on.

It was the prettiest clothing he'd ever worn in his life, and he couldn't help marvelling at the texture. He petted it. "Wow."

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw a smile. Harry smiled in return.

Then Mr Legolas directed him on the bed and knelt in front once more. "Hold out your foot."

Puzzled, Harry did.

Mr Legolas picked up the other one instead and softly fingered the cut on his ankle. The cut he'd got when he'd fallen earlier.

"It doesn't hurt . . . really it doesn't," he added when Mr Legolas looked at him.

"Nevertheless . . . I shall tend to it."

Harry looked at the blonde head as it bent down to inspect his foot once more. Why was Mr Legolas bothering with a cut as small as that one? Aunt Petunia had never bothered. Come to think of it, why was a prince tending to Harry at all? Shouldn't a servant be doing it instead?

In fact, Harry didn't think he'd seen any elf servants. Yes, those elves had bought in Harry's water, and there had been those guards, but none of them had _looked_ like servants were supposed to look. None of them had acted like servants were supposed to act.

"What age are you, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "Seven."

Mr Legolas stared at him, blue eyes old. "Wither thou goest . . ." he trailed off, then blinked. "You are incredibly small."

Harry wished people would stop saying that. He knew he was small for his age, and had always supposed it was something about living in a little dark cupboard.

So Harry said simply, "I know."

In answer, Mr Legolas applied paste to his cut ― paste he'd scooped out of a small lidded bowl and which smelled fruity ― and then wrapped it up in a white strip. "There. Now all we must do is wait for your supper."

"What if I fall asleep before then?" Harry asked.

"Then you will fall asleep. You will eat in the morning."

Harry nodded. "Okay," he said, and fell asleep.

xxxx

A/N: The very first thing Thranduil says was taken directly from pages 212-213 of _The Hobbit_. The very second thing he says was taken almost directly from page 213 of _The Hobbit_.


	6. Talks and Tours

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story. Out of all of the stories I've written, it's shaping up to be one of my favourites. Thanks again.

Enjoy!

xxxxxxx

**Chapter six: Talks and Tours**

Something loud and frightening jolted Harry awake. It took a second for him to note what it was before he shuffled lower into the covers.

As usual, Dudley was snoring.

Harry always heard him from his cupboard. He was so loud that a gang of elephants could stampede through the living room and Dudley's snores would still be heard over the racket. He'd no idea how Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia managed to sleep if even Harry sometimes couldn't. After all, he lived in a small cupboard a floor below and had a whole staircase and a half to muffle noises out. All Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had was a thin wall. And possibly a blanket.

But Harry didn't own a blanket, only a tatty sheet that was already growing mouldy along the edges. Soon, he'd have to ask Aunt Petunia for another, which would probably earn him a whole day's worth of weed-pulling.

His heart jolted as a loud, mucusy snore rumbled through his cupboard. He stared thoughtfully up into the darkness. That had been odd. Dudley had never been this loud before. That snore had sounded as if it had been very close. In fact, now that Harry thought on it, all of Dudley's snores had sounded like they were near. It was as though Dudley himself was in Harry's cupboard with Harry . . .

His stomach twisted painfully as another loud noise, this time coming from inside his stomach, growled out.

Harry slumped even more into the mattress. His stomach was clearly displeased with him. "All right," he murmured to it. It was better that he go to the kitchen now when it was still dark and the Dursleys weren't awake yet. Surely there would be some food left over from last night's dinner; if Dudley hadn't gobbled it all.

Harry sat up. He was small enough so that when he stood in his cupboard his head still didn't brush the ceiling but Harry suspected that wouldn't last long. Or maybe it would. He hadn't grown at all in the past year. He half felt it had something to do with having knobbly knees. He imagined that knobbly knees couldn't really support a tall person. They'd topple over or walk funny. Harry would never be tall. Not like Mr Legolas. He betted Mr Legolas didn't have knobbly knees ―

Harry blinked.

_Mr Legolas?_

Suddenly, it all came flooding back to him. How he and Dudley had become lost in the forest. How he'd met Mr Baggins and the dwarves. How they'd been captured by the elves. How he'd met Mr Legolas . . .

He grinned and felt like whooping, which wasn't like him at all. He settled instead for throwing back the covers and stepping onto the cold floor. He wasn't _with_ the Dursleys anymore! He didn't have a mouldy sheet to sleep under or a cupboard to live in. He didn't have to steal food in the middle of the night.

At the reminder of food his stomach grumbled again.

That was right. He hadn't eaten in close to three days, besides that bit of crumbly bread Mr Baggins had given him, but Harry very much felt that that didn't count.

Hadn't Mr Legolas said something about a butterfly coming in to bring him some food after his bath? But Harry had fallen asleep. And he really couldn't see how a butterfly could bring him food. Perhaps the insects here grew larger than they did in Aunt Petunia's garden? And if there were little people like Mr Baggins, surely it worked the other way around too? Surely some animals were bigger?

He thought for a bit, then walked to Dudley's side of the room to the window next to his bed. He remembered it as being the only window in the room. As he pushed back the cloth he saw that it had already been opened. Harry had thought to open it himself, in case a butterfly really did decide to fly in carrying a picnic basket. A _big_ picnic basket.

But if it didn't Harry supposed he could still wander around by himself and search for something to eat, but he didn't feel comfortable doing that in such a strange place. He might get lost.

Sighing, he took one last glance at the window (noting the sickle moon) before ―

Harry blinked . . . then quickly stood on his toes in order to see better.

This didn't help much as he still had to peer through the morning gloom, plus he didn't have his glasses on, but he could just make out the monstrous gate that Mr Legolas had carried him through. It was opening now as a formation of elves walked through, at the head of which was the king. Harry knew it was he because, for some reason, he glowed more than the others did. Harry could also just make out a little red crown sitting on top of the long golden hair.

That hair reminded Harry very much of Mr Legolas and he instantly wondered if he were down there with the others, walking through the gate and over the narrow bridge with its swirling black water.

Sighing, Harry let the piece of cloth settle down in its previous position. His stomach clenched and growled. Harry stared down at it.

Those elves had been interesting to see he had to admit, but they still weren't food. And they certainly couldn't help Harry now.

"I want something to ea ―" He froze. Sniffed. And froze again.

Impossible though it was to Harry, but he was certain he could smell something tantalising. And Harry was never wrong were matters of food were concerned. He'd had to scavenge for most of it at Number Four, so he had a very good nose for such things.

His fists clenched in frustration. If only he had a light. He knew there were candles all around him, but he didn't have a match.

_Why don't you open the curtain, stupid!_

Harry blinked, then pinkened. He _was_ stupid for not having thought of that straight away.

After tossing back the cloth and allowing the faint morning light to seep in, he looked around the room.

He didn't have to wait long. His sharp eyes (which had always been good at spotting little nooks to hide in when Dudley and his gang decided it was time for Harry Hunting) noticed a round shiny platter on a table next to his bed.

"Oh," he said stupidly. It had been there the whole time.

Five minutes later Harry was munching on an apple; after having gone through a bowl of cold, though no less delicious, soup, and a plateful of little meats and potatoes.

Dudley, meanwhile, was letting out the most gigantic snores that Harry had ever heard him attempt. They would first go something like this: "Kwooh, kwoah, kwooaaaaaaaghhh!" Then there would be silence for minute as his cousin stopped breathing, then it would start up again and finish with a sort of hacking rumble, as though Dudley was choking on a particularly fat lolly. Harry had a nasty feeling that Dudley might have been choking on his tongue instead.

By the time Harry finished his apple morning light had spilled into the room. _Now_ he would wake Dudley. He hadn't wanted to before because Dudley would have eaten all the food and left none for Harry.

He continued staring at the humongous snoring lump as he put on his glasses (they had been sitting next to the platter) jumped off of his bed, hoisted up Mr Legolas's shirt, and walked. His cousin had always been porky. Perhaps not eating for three days had done him some good. More good than Aunt Petunia had ever done him at least. Harry was small, but he wasn't stupid. He _knew_ Dudley's weight was bordering on dangerous.

As he stared down at the boy, Harry noted how the fat on Dudley's jowls quivered dangerously every time Dudley snored in and out. For the first time in his life, Harry felt pity for his cousin. It was obvious Dudley couldn't breathe properly because of the fat, which was why he was snoring so loudly.

Harry poked Dudley's dirty shoulder . . . was that cobweb? "Wake up."

Dudley continued to snore.

Harry became frustrated. "Wake up," he said louder, shaking Dudley's shoulder.

Dudley emitted a snore that lifted the hairs on Harry's neck.

"WAKE UP!" he shouted and, daringly, slapped his cousin's face.

Dudley grunted. "Where's the fire?" he said stupidly.

"In your throat," Harry muttered. "Wake up, then."

Dudley blinked, squinted, and stretched. "You're not allowed in here."

"This isn't your room," Harry said, immediately knowing what Dudley had been thinking. "Don't you remember what happened three days ago?"

Dudley screwed up his nose and looked to be thinking. It had to have been painful. "Well, I'd just eaten some lollies for morning tea ― you know those sugary ones that _you're_ not allowed to have — and I was supposed to meet Piers in the park for some Harry Hunting because I'd seen you sitting there earlier, but he hadn't shown up yet. Erm . . . I found a stick on the ground beside the bin. Er . . . then I decided to chase you anyway and I . . . we . . . I . . ."

Harry could tell the exact moment when Dudley realised, and it wasn't just because he began wailing. No, it was because for the first time, Dudley actually looked as though he had worked something out.

"Ahhhhh!" he bawled. "I WANT MUM!"

"Stop it," said Harry wearily. He couldn't be bothered with Dudley's tantrum now. Before his cousin had a chance to do anymore wailing, Harry reached for the platter ― his arms straining with the effort ― and dumped it on Dudley's lap.

Dudley stared at it for a second, as though not knowing what it was. Then, ignoring the fork, began stuffing his face. "Potter," he said between mouthfuls (Harry had long ago worked out how to translate full-mouthed Dudley speak), "is there any chocolate cake?"

"Erm," said Harry, knowing that if he said no Dudley would have another tantrum. "You've eaten it all."

Dudley seemed to accept that excuse. "Oh. Good. As long as _you_ didn't have any."

Harry rolled his eyes, then poked his tongue out in disgust as bits of food spattered out of Dudley's mouth. "You need a bath, Dudley." Then he remembered. "What are you about?"

"Wha'?" Crumbs of food sprinkled over Dudley's platter as he spoke.

"What did you mean when you said you found the stick beside the bin?" Harry hadn't thought of his stick since yesterday. Since the king took it.

"Oh, that." He shrugged his plump shoulders. "I found it beside the bin."

"You mean Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bin? In front of Number Four?"

Dudley nodded, still stuffing his face.

Harry thought. His stick was definitely an odd stick. It clearly didn't belong among other sticks, just like Harry didn't belong among other children. It was a Harry Stick. It _was_ Harry's stick. It had obviously been meant for him. After all, Harry was the one who took the rubbish out every day. Uncle Vernon hardly ever did, except to push the bin onto the footpath when the rubbish truck came once a week, but that was only because Harry was too small to. Otherwise, Harry would have to do that job, too.

But he hadn't taken rubbish out that day because there hadn't been any to take out. Dudley had obviously spotted the stick before Harry could have a chance.

But who on earth would leave a stick beside the Dursley's rubbish bin in hopes of Harry coming to find it?

"Dudley, did anything strange happen when you held the stick?"

Dudley scowled and glared up at Harry with a mouthful of potatoes. "You mean like how it hurt me?"

"Er," said Harry. He found it extremely hard not to burst out laughing as he remembered Dudley's piggy face and how it had screwed up in pain and confusion. "Besides that."

Dudley looked down. "No."

"Oh."

Dudley polished off the last of the crumbs, then leaned back. "I'm still hungry," he complained. "I want some Mars Bars."

"There isn't any," Harry said flatly. He walked to the foot of his bed and picked up Dudley's old trainers.

"Well I _want_ some. Go get me some."

"How thick _are_ you!" Harry whirled, shoes still in hand. "Don't you realise we're not any where near home? Weren't you listening when I spoke to Mr Baggins about it?"

Dudley blinked. Then scowled. "I _was_ listening. I just couldn't understand anything."

Harry stared incredulously. He hadn't thought his cousin this thick . . . "Well we're no where near London. Okay? And there aren't any Mars Bars here. Or tellies, or lollies, or cars, or any thing like that! And even if there were, _you_ have all the money! D'you understand now? Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Dudley's knuckles cracked at the insult. Harry was suddenly reminded just how large, ugly and unpleasant Dudley was. If he sat on Harry, he would squash the stuffing out of him. If he punched Harry, Harry would get knocked out. And he hadn't a stick to protect him now . . .

As Dudley stood with the clear intention of beating Harry into squished goo, Harry blurted, "Why d'you have cobwebs on you!"

Dudley froze. Blinked. Then whimpered. Tears filled his eyes and he looked as if he might start to cry at any second.

Harry stared, completely amazed.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" Dudley sniffed. But the heat had gone out of his voice.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly.

Dudley wiped his nose with his dirty sleeve. A slimy brown smear appeared on his cheek. "I don't want to talk about cobwebs, all right!"

Harry nodded, beyond curious. "All right."

"Good."

The two boys stood in silence. It wasn't awkward, they knew each other too well for that, but it was unpleasant. Harry imagined if he so much as moved Dudley would beat him up, and Dudley didn't imagine anything because he didn't have an imagination.

Harry sat to put his shoes on. Let Dudley beat on him. His feet were getting cold.

His cousin broke the silence. "I watched a television programme once."

"Really, that'd be a first," Harry muttered, slipping his bandaged foot into Dudley's old shoe.

Dudley ignored him. "It was about this man and how he travelled to the olden days through a worm."

_A what?_ "I don't think ―"

"They didn't have cars in the olden days," Dudley continued, staring up at the ceiling. "Or chocolate. Or television. I asked Mum, and she told me so. People spoke funny back then, too, and had weird clothes and stupid hair that they never combed because they didn't have money to buy anything." He eyed Harry nastily. "And they never took a bath, either."

Harry waited.

"But that was poor people. Mum said rich people had fancy stuff and lived in castles and palaces." Dudley looked around as though checking for eavesdroppers, the whispered, "Like in f-fairytales."

Harry's hand froze in the middle of lifting a shoelace. Dudley had said one of the bad words.

Harry and Dudley had never been allowed to read fairytales. And Harry hadn't been allowed to read anything because, according to Uncle Vernon reading, "promotes unhealthy imaginings," and fairytales, "D-Don't you say that word in my house, boy! That goes for you, too, Dudley!"

Harry straightened as the rest of what Dudley had said sank in. "You, you think we've travelled back in time!" He'd always known television would have a nasty affect on Dudley.

Dudley sensed he had sounded stupid. "I don't!"

"You do!"

"Don't!"

Harry didn't continue. He didn't fancy getting beat up.

Silence entered the room once more.

Harry went to sit back on his bed. There was no point getting into an argument with Dudley because he wouldn't understand anything Harry would be trying to tell him. Also, Harry would have a lot of bruises by the end and his glasses would probably break again.

Dudley stood for a moment, then went to sit on his bed.

Each boy heard a click, before the door opened.

A lady elf walked in. She was just like the other elf ladies Harry had seen last night, expect her gold hair was longer and she was wearing a blue dress.

She was also smiling. Harry smiled back without knowing he did as that familiar light, happy feeling that he'd always felt around Mr Legolas swarmed in his stomach.

When Harry turned to Dudley, he saw that his cousin was grinning stupidly.

Harry snorted.

"Ahh," she said, in elvish, "you have awoken."

Harry thought that was rather obvious. "Erm. Yes."

She smiled. "Well met. I am Wilwarin. I see you have found the food I left for you."

Harry blinked, then went pink. _This_ was Wilwarin? And Harry had thought her a butterfly . . . "Yes, thanks."

She turned to Dudley, eyes flitting over him. "And you, Dudley, shall have a bath."

"He doesn't understand elvish," Harry explained, wondering how she knew Dudley's name.

She smiled again. "If he does not understand elvish, then you shall have to translate for him."

Harry looked down at his shoes. "You have to have a bath, Dudley," he told his cousin.

"Good," said Dudley. "I'm all smelly."

Harry peeked up at through his fringe. "He said it was all right."

"Very good," she smiled. "Then after Dudley's bath I shall give you both something nice to wear. Then we shall have a tour of the palace."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

xxxxxx

After Dudley's bath ― where the boy had caused so much water to splosh over the side that Mrs Wilwarin had had to summon some elves to mop it up ― she took Harry by the hand (Dudley grabbed Harry's other one) and led them around the palace.

Harry let it all sink in.

She showed them all the places they were allowed to go ― like the kitchens, the dining hall, the library, the antechambers, the lavatories, the pottery room, the garden, the outside, and the weaving room (Harry waved shyly as the lady elves who were busy stitching a gigantic tapestry smiled at him).

Dudley almost started complaining then, because he'd never liked walking or any type of exercise, but one glance at Mrs Wilwarin stopped him.

Perhaps Dudley was too embarrassed to have a bawl in front of such a pretty girl? Harry reminded himself that Dudley had never cried in front of strangers. At least, not before they came here.

Then Mrs Wilwarin showed them all the places they weren't allowed to go in ― like the armoury, the training room, the stock room, the royal bedrooms (she didn't allow them to look in there), and other rooms that Harry and Dudley weren't allowed to see but which no doubt sounded interesting ― like the treasure room, and the dungeons.

But Harry already had plans to go down to the dungeons. He had to see his friends to make sure they were all right and, perhaps, to bring them some nice food.

He peered down the dark stairs leading underground. They didn't look so scary. Harry could do it.

They continued walking until they came upon the cave entrance. The sliver gate loomed majestically at them.

"Listen now," Mrs Wilwarin reminded them gently, "you must not venture outside the magic gate, for it is a gate only the king and his kin can open."

"His kin?" Harry asked.

"His family," Mrs Wilwarin explained.

"But if I'm not the king's family, I won't be able to venture outside the m-magic gate anyway," Harry said.

Mrs Wilwarin looked startled, then seemed as though she wanted to explain something, but didn't. Instead she settled with: "You are very clever little boy."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled, looking down. Nobody had ever said that to him, but he'd always known he wasn't stupid. Still, it was nice to hear.

The magic gate made him remember something. He tugged on the elf lady's hand. "Mrs Wilwarin?"

Her eyes crinkled, but she nodded for him to continue.

"Where's Mr―I mean, _Prince_ Legolas?"

"He has gone to his duty."

"His duty?"

"He is on hunt with his father. Then he shall return to his post on the outskirts."

"Outskirts?"

"The perimeter of our lands. He hunts for orcs and spiders. He and a compliment of elves protect us from outside threats."

"Oh." Did that mean Mr Legolas wasn't coming back? It sounded like it did.

_But what do you care? You haven't even known him for a day._

But Harry did care. He cared very much. Mr Legolas hadn't even said goodbye.

And what about the talk Harry was supposed to have with the king that morning. How could Harry do that if the king wasn't even in the palace?

Perhaps the king had forgotten about him? That wasn't so unusual. A lot of people forgot about Harry.

xxxxx

A/N: _Wilwarin_ means butterfly in elvish.

Happy New Year!


	7. Apples That Bob

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient in waiting for this chapter. I had a bit of a hectic few months, but hopefully I'm back on track now. And for those of you who are desperate to know about _The Black Wizard_ . . . I'll be updating that as soon as I finish writing the chapter. Hopefully it'll be within the next week or two.

Thanks also for the wonderful reviews. I can't thank you enough for taking the time to tell me what you thought of my story. And of course, thank you to those who took the time to read it as well.

Enjoy.

**Chapter Seven: Apples That Bob**

Harry and Dudley were left alone by Mrs Wilwarin until lunch time, and when Dudley threw a tantrum because they couldn't find the kitchens, Harry led him outside and to the gardens, hoping desperately that no passing elves had heard them and wondering if he could get any more embarrassed.

In truth, Harry had known where the kitchen was — having remembered it from Mrs Wilwarn's tour just that morning — but he hadn't wanted to tell his cousin. Dudley would have eaten everything in it.

The gardens looked more like a forest. Fat trees with millions of green leaves, squishy grass, all sorts of vegetables, and plants that Aunt Petunia would cry to get hold of. All this lay spread in a large, large open space. This was apparently so that sunlight and rain could penetrate. As Dudley ran off to pick at the berry shrubs growing along the wall, a movement over on his far left caught his attention.

Three elves were weeding, pruning, clipping, raking and otherwise engaged in gardening activities, and when they spotted Harry staring they smiled kindly.

"_Quel amrun!_" one or two called out, and Harry knew that that meant good morning.

"Er, hullo," he said back, face heating for no particular reason.

They all smiled once more and gestured for Harry to come over. Harry did, and almost tripped over his shoelace scrambling up the short incline.

They fascinated him, these people with no apparent gender that he could see. And Harry Potter knew, with a sudden grown-up insight, that he was not alone in this fascination. He wasn't the first, and he certainly would not be the last to get captured by the beauty of the elves. And they all looked so extremely alike with their pretty pale hair that Harry felt a short burst of homesickness for Mr Legolas, who was one of the only people who had ever treated him with any sort of kindness.

_But that's stupid,_ he thought angrily at himself. He hadn't even known Mr Legolas for a day. He couldn't _miss_ him. But sometimes it seemed as if he'd known the elf for far lot longer then that. As though – as though Harry had _always_ known him.

_But that's even stupider._

"Hello," he said again, quite unable to stop from smiling up at the giant slender people.

The elves in turn were fascinated with this strange yet delightful child creature that looked too clean and unusual-looking to be of the race of men, but how could he be anything but? For his cousin, 'twas clear, would grow to be a man. They had heard of the children that had travelled with the now captured dwarves (well, who in the palace hadn't?) and that one of them, this one, possessed queer abilities.

The elves laughed easily and at random. They were not so narrow-minded and suspicious a people to dismiss a mystery when there clearly was one staring them in the face, but they also knew not to pry, curious souls that they were. It was enough for them to know that the little boy, Harry, had odd talents, and that would be the end of it.

Harry on the other hand scrunched his nose in confusion. _Why are they staring at me like that?__I haven't done anything wrong._ His stomach dipped unpleasantly at a sudden, horrid thought. Perhaps he _had_ done something wrong? Was he supposed to have come outside with Dudley? Mrs Wilwarin hadn't said they couldn't. But then, she hadn't said they could either.

"My name is Mirdhel," the elf closest to him said, and Harry jumped a foot in the air. "Come, Harry Potter."

"Where?" he asked, stupidly he thought. And he was _not_ going to ask just how the elf had known his name.

Mr Mirdhel laughed. "Would you not like to learn a bit about gardening? Children are very curious, so I hear. Even more so those of the race of men."

"I already know about gardening," Harry answered, now getting a bit angry. His anger retreated somewhat when the two other elves smiled at him again, then went to prune some bushes. "And I keep telling everyone I'm not a man. At least I don't think I am. Not yet. I'm a boy."

Mr Mirdhel laughed and Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. What had he said this time that was so funny?

"Of course you are, and so is your cousin. I only meant . . ." The elf stared down at him from his great height.

Harry stared back.

Mr Mirdhel cleared his throat a little. "So you know about gardening, do you?"

"I guess."

"Would you like to show me a little?"

Harry didn't particularly feel like it — he'd done enough for Aunt Petunia to last him several years — but he found himself mumbling, "All right."

"Splendid! I shall find you some leather —"

"What for?" Harry realised that sounded a bit rude. "I mean, what for, sir?"

"What for?" Mr Mirdhel brushed back a bit of pale hair that had fallen over his shoulder. "Well, for your hands, Mr Potter. Do you wish them to suffer?"

Harry didn't much know how to answer that question.

"Am I right in saying that you do not?"

Harry nodded.

"Good, then. You will teach me how to garden your way. That shall keep you out of mischief, I dare say. Besides, my Lord Thranduil has asked us to keep a sharp eye out for any wandering children, and here you are."

"What about Dudley?" Harry asked, thinking privately that the king was right to ask his elves to do that. Harry was already plotting about how to sneak into the dungeons.

Blue eyes blinked. "Dudley?"

"My cousin."

"Ahh . . ." Mr Mirdhel turned his head a little and seemed to gaze beyond Harry. "He shall be fine. He is — _Ai!"_

Harry jumped once more. "What?"

"Your cousin knows no Elvish nor Westron?"

"Er," Harry tried.

"I thought not," said Mr Mirdhel grimly, then gently took Harry by his arm and led him down the little slope to where Harry knew Dudley was stuffing his face. "Would you be so good as to get your, Dudley, for me?"

Harry went straight away. He wasn't stupid. He had seen the irritated look Mr Mirdhel had gotten. Dudley must have been doing something Dudleyish, which Mr Mirdhel, with his bigger height, had been able to see.

Harry crawled under some bushes until his head almost banged into the palace wall, then sat up.

He blinked.

Dudley was hunching against the wall, stuffing his fat face with lots of little red berries. This was nothing unusual — though it was a little strange to see Dudley's face covered in anything other than smudged chocolate.

"What are you doing here?"

Dudley started so much some berries scattered into the air. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Mr Mirdhel told me to get you."

"Who's Mr Myrtle?"

"It's Miiirrr-dhelll. And I think you're in trouble, Dudley."

Harry turned furious at seeing Dudley's shrug. "I don't care."

Dudley's attitude, though familiar, really grated at him. How was he going to . . . Harry had a brilliant flash of insight. "They'll put you in the dungeon if you don't come out."

Dudley listened without turning his head.

"All you get is mouldy bread in the dungeon. And it's cold, and there's no light, and there's probably spiders, and big fat rats that'll gnaw your toes off during the —"

"Shut up, shut up, I WANT MUUUUUM!" Dudley screamed. His hands had clenched into massive, chubby balls and his face had become very red.

Harry quickly squirreled out. It would not do to get beaten up. Dudley would follow, Harry knew. 'I want Mum' was usually Dudley's last defence, which meant he had become so frustrated that he had run out of things to say.

"He's coming now," Harry told Mr Mirdhel, squeezing out beneath the last shrub and turning around. "I think he's feeling a bit homesi . . ." the words died on his lips.

His heart thumped a thousand miles a minute.

Harry didn't know how or when it had happened, but _Mr Legolas_ had come back. He was now standing beside Mr Mirdhel and smiling kindly down at Harry.

Harry smiled back so widely he was sure his lips cracked. "Hi!"

A puzzled crease appeared between Mr Legolas's eyebrows. "_Vendui' _. . . I think. And how have you faired this day, Harry?"

"Very well, thank you," Harry answered, still surprised at the elf's sudden appearance. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

Mr Legolas seemed to smile, but not. "You may, but I think this conversation will go much better if I were to . . ." he dropped to one knee. "There, that is a _lot_ more comfortable, is it not?"

Harry nodded.

Then Mr Legolas reached forward and hugged Harry to him. With only a slight hesitation Harry let him, breathing in that smell; that always familiar smell. Of sunlight and earth and green and happiness and Mr Legolas, just Mr Legolas. Harry sighed, content for the moment.

"I've missed you, Harry. I know not why, but there you have it."

Harry didn't say anything, but inside his chest nearly burst with joy! No one, ever, had told Harry that. Ever! He leaned his cheek against Mr Legolas's strong shoulder, too pleased to think about the fact that the elf had only known him for a day, and surely it was a bit unusual for him to like Harry so much?

Mr Legolas drew back, hand on Harry's shoulder. "Now, I believe you have a question you wish to ask me?"

"Right . . . erm . . . Mrs Wilwarin said that you were out protecting the border."

"Yes," Mr Legolas nodded, with a slightly amused grin.

"It's just, she said that you were going to be there for awhile, and I guess I was just wondering . . ." Harry looked down at his shoes.

"Ah, I see now what you're asking. Yes, I was supposed to stay there, but, I remembered that I had responsibilities at home. I wanted not to be away from here; now here I am and here I shall stay . . . until such time comes when I am needed for more serious scouting."

Harry's face brightened, but all he said was: "Oh."

Mr Mirdhel swung his hand. "I believe your cousin has been detained, Mr Potter."

"Huh?" Harry blinked, looked behind him, and saw nothing but shrubs. "Oh. He probably just forgot. I'll go get him."

Of course Harry knew that Dudley hadn't forgotten. He was either terribly scared, angry, or both. Or maybe he just wanted to be annoying.

Harry stuck his head under the shrubbery. Dudley had moved forward, it was true, but not by much. He was now crouching — as much as his considerable bulk would allow him — between two fat berry bushes. He appeared especially uncomfortable, squashed there like that, and his face looked like he'd just trod on something really disgusting. Harry could smell a tantrum brewing.

He wasn't much fancying that scenario, especially with Mr Legolas right there, so he hissed at Dudley. "What are doing? I told you to come out!"

"I don't _want_ to!"

"Well you _have_ to! Mr Legolas just came back, and he's a _prince_! You don't want to get a prince angry. Stop being so scared."

Dudley immediately drew himself up. "I AM NOT SCARED!" he shouted, but Harry had the result he wanted. Even though he was now in danger of his health, Dudley would not be thinking about anything other than Harry Hunting. That was good. That was less embarrassing. Dudley never made a scene in front of people he didn't know.

Harry sat up and out of the bush, Dudley following wobblingly. His legs under the revolting orange shorts looked oddly misshapen. Harry found he was too annoyed to snigger at the sight.

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him turn around. Mr Legolas was still crouching, but now he was looking at Dudley and frowning slightly.

Dudley stood up, a little slowly, tiny eyes growing wider as he spotted first Mr Mirdhel then Mr Legolas.

He whimpered. "Harry, tell them I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything wrong, I swear I swear!"

As this was Dudley Harry found that very hard to believe. "Well . . . you just told them, didn't you?" Dudley hadn't troubled to keep his voice down at all.

_He's really _really_ stupid if he thinks Mr Legolas and Mr Mirdhel didn't hear him._

Dudley looked at him side-ways. "No I didn't."

"Don't be funny," Harry said angrily, thinking Dudley was being stupid on purpose. "I heard you. You were talking so loud, and –"

"Yeah but not in _their_ language! Honestly, Potter."

Harry went very still. "What d'you mean?"

Dudley breathed through his nose. Hard. "Tell them I didn't do anything wrong!"

"No! Tell me what you meant first!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Dudley screeched, but Harry wasn't worried about getting embarrassed now. He had forgotten about the two elves at his side. Something Dudley had said seemed suddenly — impossibly though it was to believe — very serious and important.

"What did you mean when you said 'in their language'?"

Dudley frowned. "Well, they speak another language, don't they? I've heard you talking to them in it, too. Don't pretend like you don't know how!"

"But I speak to them in English sometimes, too."

"You haven't been speaking to them in English at all. You haven't been speaking to anyone in English!"

Harry's jaw dropped. "What about Mr Baggins?"

"You mean that little man? You spoke to him in another funny-sounding language." Dudley was now breathing very hard, and Harry knew if it weren't for Mr Legolas and Mr Mirdhel Dudley would have punched him. "You're just trying to trick me! You're just trying to get me into trouble. Well you can't, you can't! I haven't done anything wrong! I haven't!"

"Shut up, Dudley," Harry said, mind now whirling ten miles a minute. It was so obvious now, what he hadn't seen before. Dudley had even said it himself, just that morning, but Harry hadn't realised . . .

"_How thick _are_ you!" Harry whirled, shoes still in hand. "Don't you realise we're not anywhere near home? Weren't you listening when I spoke to Mr Baggins about it?"_

_Dudley blinked. Then scowled. "I _was_ listening. I just couldn't understand anything."_

Harry had thought Dudley extremely thick at the time, but now he realised that Dudley had actually been telling the truth. Dudley _hadn't_ understood what Harry had said to Mr Baggins and the dwarves. He hadn't understood _anything_. That was why he hadn't tried to talk to anyone. That was why he had stayed so quiet all the time. And now there was another language here, in this very odd place, that wasn't English but that Harry could miraculously speak.

His head hurt.

But how hadn't he _known_? He hadn't even realised that the language he and Mr Baggins had been speaking wasn't English.

Just to make sure, though. Harry looked up, and tried, in English, "Mr Legolas, can you understand what I'm saying?"

The elf had turned his head in response to his name, but other than that he looked politely puzzled.

"_Mani ume lle quena, Harry?_"

"It's nothing," said Harry, in Elvish. "Dudley just wants to say sorry for whatever it is he's done."

Mr Legolas smiled so prettily that Harry couldn't help but smile back. "Tis nothing serious, Harry. Mirdhel is simply very protective of the garden. He is its main keeper, and hopes to stay that way." He laughed a bit. "Merely inform Dudley that he is not to touch the berries anymore, please. Otherwise we shall have none for the summer feast, and none for the merrymaking."

Even Harry didn't think Dudley could eat that much, but he did what Mr Legolas told him to.

Dudley frowned in response. "But I'm _hungry_. Make them give me something to eat."

Harry went scarlet translating for the two elves, but they simply laughed. "If hungry you are, then food you shall get! Come along, and be careful where you step. You have not been blessed with Elven feet, I think. Eru, what a mess this is. Careful now. _Khila amin_."

Harry hesitantly stepped over the manure that Mr Mirdhel had pointed at, knowing Dudley followed. Then Mr Legolas and Mr Mirdhel led them to the great hall for lunch.

Dudley clutched Harry's arm as they stepped through the doors. This was the first time that either of them had been here, and it was simply _huge_! To a boy of Harry's upbringing — who hadn't seen much more than the inside of his very small cupboard — it was quite possibly the most gigantic bit of space he had ever seen indoors.

And it was all cave-like and green and silver and glowing.

Mr Legolas ushered them to a long table and placed them at the end. Then he took the seat beside Harry's. He gestured to the plates filled with food. "Pick any dish you want. Treat yourselves as if you were at home. Be not shy, for there is plenty to go around. Eat up and drink up!" Then he laughed that tinkling laugh that warmed Harry's insides.

As he looked at the succulent-smelling food, a small rumbling erupted from his stomach.

Harry briefly pondered that if he were to 'treat himself as if he were at home' he'd be forced to sneak out at night and steal food from the kitchen, but he didn't tell Mr Legolas that. "Let go of my arm, Dudley." It had started to go numb.

Dudley whimpered.

Harry sighed shortly. "If you're hungry just eat! You're allowed now!"

Dudley didn't waste a second before piling up his plate, eyes glinting greedily at all the piles of food. And there really was _lots_ of food. Harry had never seen so much in his life. His stomach gave another lurch, and despite trying not to, he found himself copying his cousin and grabbing as much as he could from the serving dishes — although he was a lot more polite about it then Dudley, who now looked as though he'd been replaced by a pig.

Despite Dudley's satisfied grunting, the meal was eaten in silence by the two boys. Harry, though small, was very much aware of the stares they were getting, and his face grew hotter and hotter as he ate. He wasn't to know that the elves were staring simply because they were children, and for no other reason than that. Although some felt that the larger child could have showed more decorum.

Harry tried his best to ignore everyone, but it was made even harder by how rude Dudley was being. He could not _believe_ it! Surely Dudley had never been this . . . piggy before.

Harry nudged him carefully with his elbow. "Would you eat slower?"

Dudley looked up at him with balloon cheeks, and blinked. "NO!"

Harry sighed, and wiped a pumpkin spatter off his cheek. It had been worth a try. He would just have to bear the embarrassment, he expected. After all, it wasn't _Harry_ who was eating like a pig. He didn't know why Dudley's behaviour, which was very typical, was bothering him now. It never had before. But then Harry had never cared before.

_Especially with Mr Legolas right there. Watching._

Harry took a chance and peeked up through his fringe.

Green eyes met brilliant blue.

Harry dropped his gaze to his plate so fast, his head spun.

Although he was embarrassed by the fact that Mr Legolas was looking their way, he was also pleased because of it. But he had no idea why. Harry tried to make it seem like he'd just been gazing around pleasantly and, without thought, reached for the lone apple that rested on the small fruit platter to his right.

His fingers curled around empty air.

Harry looked, and blinked. His jaw dropped.

The apple wasn't on the plate anymore. Instead it was, was . . . floating! In mid-air!

The small boy quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Mr Legolas was busy chatting to Mr Mirdhel and another elf on his right, and Dudley was plumping himself up, as usual. Nobody seemed to have noticed anything. He rubbed his eyes and stared again at the apple, which suddenly bobbed away from the table, along the wall, and out of the doors to the great hall.

"That's very odd."

"What is?"

"Hmm?" He stared at his cousin, who had just dug his fork into a football-sized spud and was about to bring it to his mouth. "Did you just notice anything odd?"

"Odd?" Food spattered.

Harry hesitated. "Anything, m-magical?"

Dudley choked, but he was too much of an expert eating food at high speeds to be bothered by something so little. He swallowed heavily. "No, I didn't," he said flatly. "Dad would've thrown you in the cupboard for a whole day for mentioning that word, you know."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "But your dad isn't here now."

Dudley became strangely silent.

xxxxxx

At Mr Legolas's urging, Dudley and Harry spent the rest of that afternoon in the gardens under the care of Mr Mirdhel, who was now scattering the left-over compost around some newly planted tomatoes. Harry's new elf-friend even let him harvest some cabbages.

Although the apple incident still gnawed at him Harry ignored it in favour of trying to stay clear of Dudley's way, who'd become bored from the lack of television programs and had once again decided that Harry made a very good punch bag. Not that his cousin would dare try anything under the nose of Mr Mirdhel, who could spot Dudley attempting to filch some berries from behind three trees, two garden benches, and a shrub.

Dudley had been properly scolded after that — despite not knowing what exactly the elf had shouted at him — and had not ventured near any berry bushes again; though Harry had spotted him trying to climb a fruit tree a little later. Fortunately, his bulk hadn't allowed it.

"Mirdhel," Harry began, (Mr Mirdhel had told Harry to call him that), "do you happen to know when Prince Legolas and King Thranduil are coming back?"

Just before Mr Legolas had disappeared again, he had told Harry that he had to go back and help his father and a few other elves with their hunting. They were to bring back a dozen boars and how ever many deers. Then half the palace was to go out into the forest for the spring merrymaking. Harry thought that the perfect opportunity to sneak down to the dungeons.

"At dusk, I imagine," Mirdhel answered, holding up the sack so Harry could put in the cabbages. "Although, you and your cousin shall have to take a bath . . . and a change of tunics, at least, before the merrymaking."

"But, but I don't have any other clothes with me!" Secretly he was disappointed. Now he wouldn't be able to go and take food to his friends.

Mirdhel laughed. "How fearful you look, Harry! Do you think we will not give you clothes? Already Wilwarin has made you both a set of robes. Fear not!" He messed up Harry's hair. "Now you look like a hedgehog. A fine sight indeed! That hair is not natural, I say."

"Of course it's not when you just put mud through it," Harry said angrily, and tried to flatten his fringe.

"Oh-ho, the little hedgehog has a sharp tongue, too. Just as well, you shall need it with that one."

He jerked a gloved thumb in the direction of Dudley, who was looking very despondent sitting on a garden bench and playing with his shoelaces.

"Mirdhel," Harry began again, now charged with holding the sack, "What's dusk?"

The elf snorted, delicately, and dumped in a couple of carrots. "'What is dusk', indeed. The time between sun light and sun down is said to be the most beautiful. Twilight, in other words, young Harry."

That word was as foreign to Harry as 'dusk' had been. "Right . . . I just wanted to know when the king was supposed to come back because of my stick."

"Ah, yes, the mysterious stick. The one not even our wisest can decipher." Mirdhel had gone very still and thoughtful. When he looked Harry's way his eyes were heavy. "I doubt you will get it back anytime soon, Harry."

_What?_ "But it-it's mine!"

Mirdhel shrugged, again delicately. "_Amin hiraetha_. You shall have to ask Prince Legolas when he returns. I know nothing except that which gossip has blown my way. I cannot help you, little one. But take heart." He wiped a smidgeon of dirt from Harry's cheek. "Thranduil has promised to talk with you, and talk he shall. Just be patient."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Harry asked, confused.

Mirdhel looked shocked, and a little irritated. "Why should I not want to be? Have I given you reason to think otherwise? That was a very odd question, Harry. I did not care for it at all."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, stomach plummeting heavily at his rude blunder, "it's just . . . I didn't just mean you, Mirdhel. Everyone here is very nice . . . but . . ." Harry breathed deeply and looked down at his shoes.

When Mirdhel spoke his voice was gentle. "You have not had a very good time of life, I should think. I understand." He took a breath, and shifted a bit. "As to why I, specially, am being nice . . . well, why should I not be? You have done me no ill. But, I suppose it is also because I am not that much older than you are. I was seven myself not too long ago. I still remember how it feels."

Harry looked up at that. "Really? How old are you now?"

"I shall be fifty and seven winters this year. So you see, I am very young indeed. I was the youngest in the palace until you and your cousin arrived."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Fifty-seven? But that's not young at all! Even Uncle Vernon isn't that old!"

Mirdhel blinked, slanted his head. "Yes, I had forgotten it is very different with the Edain. I just assumed, what with you being what you are . . ."

Now it was Harry's turn to slant his head.

The elf smiled. "Never mind. All you have to know is that I am. . ." He seemed to struggle a bit, "something like ten and five winters in human years. I think. I am not certain." He tugged the sack from Harry's hand. "But enough of that, we're done here for now. Will you help me collect my gardening tools?"

Harry smiled and nodded. He went to stand —

"Wait."

He froze in mid-squat. Mirdhel was looking at him very mysteriously. His fingers reached forward to part Harry's fringe. "What is this? It looks like . . . _lanta en' kalale_."

Yes, his scar did look like a lightening bolt. Harry had always been proud of its unusual-looking shape. "I got it in the car crash that killed my parents."

"_Khar-Krash_?"

Harry shifted a bit. "It's just something from back home. It's nothing important. I don't think you have them here."

"Them?"

"Cars."

"Ah," Mirdhel nodded like it all made sense. He stood. "I do not think I should like this _'Khar'_ animal if I were ever to see one. They seem very unp — what are you laughing about?" he asked, because Harry had started sniggering uncontrollably.

xxxxx

**Translations **

Vendui': Greetings

Mani ume lle quena?: What did you say?"

Khila amin: Follow me

Amin hiraetha: I'm sorry.


	8. A Not Very Big Change of Circumstance

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Another chapter finally here. I have to thank everyone who took the time to review this story. I appreciate all those comments that aren't self-righteous flamers. Again, I have to apologise for the long wait. My only excuse is that I have other stories that need updating too, and most of them are quite long chapter wise.

Enough with the ramble, on with the chapter!

Enjoy.

xxxxxxxx

**Chapter Eight: A Not Very Big Change of Circumstance.**

It had to happen, Harry supposed. And he didn't know why he had been surprised when it finally did. Dudley had finally become too bored with trying to filch berries from under Mirdhel's nose, and instead became too stupid to think of what might happen to him when people found out he was chasing Harry — and not because he wanted to give him a cuddle.

Mirdhel had left Harry and Dudley alone for a bit while he went to fetch a garden tool he'd left in the kitchen the previous day and now Harry was hiding in the hollow of a large tree, hopeful that his cousin wouldn't think to look for him there. Already a spider had crawled into his hair, but Harry wasn't overly bothered by it because of his cupboard. But he now worried that he'd made himself into an even bigger target: Harry wouldn't be able to run out of the tree if Dudley found him. Perhaps it would be better if he climbed up the tree instead?

_Dudley can't do that,_ he told himself hopefully. _He's too big._

Harry scrambled out from his nook before he'd even finished the thought. Then just as quickly scrambled up the tree. He'd only climbed a little way when something big and squashy — something horrendously tight — wrapped around his ankle and _pulled_.

_Thud!_

Harry had just enough time to suffer the jarring pain of his landing when Dudley was on him.

He punched Harry. He slapped Harry. He kicked Harry. He shouted, he cried and Harry whacked back but it was no use because Dudley was so much bigger and Harry was getting squashed under the rolls of weight. "No! No! _OW! OWWW! STOP it!"_ Harry somehow managed to screw his wrist from out of Dudley's hand and thwack him across the nose.

The sound was very dull and probably not all that painful but Dudley howled anyway.

Harry Potter then experienced a moment of very true fear where, in the face of his cousin's murderous gaze and bloodied nostril, he knew he had done very _very_ stupid thing.

There was really no point trying to defend himself now, but that was what Harry did. He jerked his arms over his bruised little face and waited for the inevitable.

Dudley punched his stomach instead.

He didn't quite know how — because his body ached so much he thought this was what it must feel like to die — Harry managed to scuttle out from under Dudley. He hobbled quickly, lifted the first thing he thought might make a good weapon, whirled around, and brandished it at Dudley just as he came to a stop.

"Don't try anything," Harry warned, blood dripping from his nose. He wiped it with the end of Mr Legolas's sleeve, hoping desperately that the elf wouldn't mind.

Dudley stared at the pebble in Harry's hand and chortled. "Wha'choo gonna do? Throw it at me?"

Harry was still gasping from his hard landing, not to mention what came after, but he still wasn't confused enough to forget how to scare Dudley. "I've put magic on it," Harry said, watching Dudley's face pale. "If I throw it at you, you – you'll turn into a big gorilla and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will have to put you in a zoo and you'll be gawked at."

"Will not!" Dudley said bravely, but was starting to look very uncertain. His eyes kept flitting between the pebble in Harry's hand to the determined look on Harry's face. "Anyway, there's no such thing as magic!"

"How did we come here, then?" asked Harry, waving around the pebble. "It wasn't by car. Or perhaps you think your parents dropped us off?"

"Shut up! SHUT _UP! _THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC! THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAAAAGIIIIC!" Dudley was sobbing now. He sat his large bottom on the ground and hid his face in his sausage fingers. "I want to go home," he said softly.

"I know," said Harry. _But _I_ don't. I don't want to go back to Privet Drive, not anymore. Nobody likes me there._

"How did we get here, Harry?" Dudley asked.

"I dunno."

"I think it's because of that stick," said Dudley in a moment of cleverness. "I reckon you _can_ do m-m-magic." Then he looked around wildly as though Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were hiding behind the nearest tree. "I miss telly. I miss my chocolate."

He sniffled and lifted his head, wiping off a glob of slimy bogies, but he missed a little bit. That little bit now stretched in a glistening green string all the way to his ear.

"Don't you miss your mum and dad?"

"'Course," Dudley said sulkily, and his eyes flitted around once more.

Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure if now was the time to ask, but he'd always wondered what had happened to Dudley in the day they'd been separated; in the day Harry had spent alone, missing his rotten family. Dudley had found Mr Baggins and the Dwarves before Harry. But _how_ had he found them?

"How did you meet Mr Baggins, Dudley?" Harry asked, making sure not to crouch down too near his cousin in case Dudley turned Dudleyish.

"He saved me," said Dudley, staring at the ground.

Harry hadn't expected that. "Were you in some sort of trouble?"

Dudley was breathing very fast now and his pudgy fingers were jabbing into the holes where his shoelaces came out of. "I was – I was kidnapped."

"Dudley," said Harry very slowly, and remembering very speedily. "Did you get kidnapped by – by spiders?"

As soon as Harry said it he wished he hadn't. Of course Dudley hadn't been kidnapped by spiders. How _stupid_. He suddenly imagined millions of little hairy bodies lifting Dudley over their shoulders and scurrying him up the trunk of a tree.

"Yes."

Harry blinked at the whisper. "What?"

"Spiders kidnapped me." Dudley looked up at him. "_Giant_ spiders."

_Oh._ Harry blinked again. Now he imagined hundreds of BIG hairy bodies scurrying up various tree trunks. "Ohh," he breathed. "Did they —?"

"They tried to eat me."

Harry felt as though an ice-cube had dropped into his stomach and started skating around. No matter how much he might dislike Dudley Harry had never wanted to _eat_ him. "But," he tried, risking injury and shuffling forward a bit. The pain in his stomach flared. Harry ignored it. This was much more interesting. "You can't know that. You don't speak, erm, Spider Language."

Dudley's head snapped up, eyes wild and furious. "They hung me upside down from a tree and tied me up in their sticky webs and they clicked at me and that's just how a normal-sized spider acts when he wants to eat a fly!"

"All right," Harry said quickly. "I'm sorry."

"I just want to go home," Dudley sobbed. "I wish I could go home. Can't I go home, Harry?"

Yes, why couldn't Dudley go home? Harry would have preferred that. It would be much less bother and he wouldn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder for the next _Harry Hunting_ episode.

_I wouldn't have to worry about getting hurt all the time, _Harry thought furiously.

Why had Dudley come with him anyway? Why did he have to be where Harry always went? Why did he always have to be in Harry's way? Why did he always have to hurt Harry? Why couldn't Dudley go home? Harry wished he would get lost already so he could —

_Pop!_

Harry blinked, staring at the space where his cousin had been not a second ago.

Dudley was gone.

xxxxxx

Something very strange was going on, something . . . _magical_, and Harry had no idea what it all meant. He only knew that if he wished for something — really _really_ REALLY wished for something — he would get it.

_Like making Dudley go away? _a small voice said.

Harry held tightly onto Mirdhel's hand as they strode through the cave corridors of King Thranduil's home, who, Harry thought desperately, probably did not want to be bothered right now. Not for something as stupid as a disappearing Dudley anyway. Nobody would care that Dudley was gone. Harry certainly wouldn't miss him.

_But Mirdhel cared. He'd seemed to care very much._ Harry had tried to explain what had happened with Dudley, but Mirdhel — who had just finished taking Harry to the healing rooms to clean up his bruises — had looked at him _very_ oddly indeed. _As though – as though he didn't believe me._

"Mirdhel," Harry whispered, tugging lightly at the hand in his own.

Mirdhel looked down at him, and Harry saw nothing gentle in his eyes. With a drooping jerk in his stomach, Harry felt his own tear up.

Instantly Mirdhel crouched down and placed a large hand on Harry's face. "_Ai_, Harry! No, no, _pen dithen_. Do not weep, I beg you. I blame you not. Tis obvious what has happened. I _know_ what has happened, and Thranduil will also when I tell him, as shall all in the palace."

"But," said Harry, fear dissolving rather quickly now that Mirdhel had explained, "_why_ are we going to the king? And I thought he was hunting."

Mirdhel smiled prettily. "Well, he shall be a little surprised should he look towards your place at breakfast one morning and not see your cousin there, shouldn't he?"

Harry nodded. "I expect."

"As for hunting: he should be back by now. If he is not, we shall simply wait for him."

Mirdhel wiped off a stray tear and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. How humiliating. Harry had never cried in front of anyone before, and he hoped he never would again.

"You dislike the idea of reliance, do you not? So fiercely stubborn." Mirdhel shook his head, but it was the kind of shake Aunt Petunia gave to Dudley when he blew up all the aliens on his computer.

Like, like Harry had done something impressive. But he was only being himself.

And so they waited.

Passing elves looked down at Harry with kind eyes as he stood in front of the throne room holding Mirdhel's hand. Not for the first time did Harry get the urge to press himself against the leg of his very tall protector, but he squelched it and told himself stubbornly that he was behaving much like a baby would. Much like Dudley would.

And also not for the first time did Harry miss his stick.

Harry wondered if King Thranduil still had it, if he had hidden it somewhere in his throne room so that Harry might steal it at another more convenient time, and if he did have it would he show it to Harry today. Harry took comfort in the thought that nobody but Harry could touch his stick.

_Mine_, he thought firmly, warmth in his chest.

He'd never really had anything that belonged just to him. The stick was his, it was made for him, it was Harry's stick. Harry knew this as certainly as he knew that there was a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. _How_ he knew, he didn't much care. It was just important that he did know.

But because the stick was his, Harry's, he now felt as though a part of him was missing. It _shouldn't_ belong to anyone else. Nobody else should touch it. Wasn't that proven by how it burned anyone who tried? It should be by Harry's side and nobody else's.

_Even a king's?_

"_Especially_ even a king's," Harry whispered stubbornly. Just because King Thranduil was a king, didn't mean he was special. Thranduil was not _Harry's_ king anyway.

_But he's Mirdhel's king, and Mr Legolas's king. If I want them to be my friends then I'm going to have to listen to the king._

Harry didn't particularly want to, but he was patient enough to wait for a better time to steal back his stick. And King Thranduil need never know.

Feeling decidedly happier, Harry smiled up at Mirdhel, who gave his hand a little squeeze. Harry needn't have worried about anything. Somehow he'd get his stick back.

xxxxx

Harry's audience with the king went only a little to his liking. He didn't get back his stick, though it was mentioned, but only because King Thranduil asked where Harry got it. Harry truthfully told him "Dudley. He found it beside my Uncle Vernon's rubbish bin, sir" and this produced much tittering from surrounding elves until the king told them all to be quiet in the same sharp tone he'd used when issuing the dwarves' imprisonment.

Then King Thranduil asked why only Harry could touch "the little staff". This, Harry did not know, and told the king so. He was feeling very brave framed on either side by Mirdhel and Mr Legolas, and felt like he could tell the king anything without getting in too much trouble.

"But you do not need the staff to perform acts of magic," King Thranduil stressed, hand on his brow. "My elves told me this already — that you put to sleep your cousin by shouting at him. Tell me, little one: what are you? You need not be shy. Little boys, however uncommon it may seem, are not the only ones that can do magic. Elves are magic unto themselves. Come now, can you not speak? Why do you look at me so?"

"Sorry, but I've only just found out I can do magic," said Harry, digging his fingers into the back of Mr Legolas's hand. "I didn't know I could before. I just thought it was freaky stuff."

"_Freik_-ii? What is this word? No–no do not tell me. Legolas, what do you think of this matter? Is he lying?"

_I am not! _Harry thought indignantly.

"Children of Men have been known to do so in my experience. Those from downriver seem more capable of it than the elflings I have watched over in the past," said Mr Legolas, to Harry's horror. That horror whizzed away very fast when Harry heard what Mr Legolas said next: "But Harry Potter does not strike me as the sort who would do so, my Lord. Far too honest is he, and fair of soul. I see it every time I look into his eyes. If I were to watch him at leisure I am most certain I would find only the same honesty throughout."

Then Mr Legolas reached down and plucked Harry off the floor as though he was nothing more than a small potato, and Harry Potter couldn't even gasp at how fast that had been accomplished. He simply hid his messy little head into Mr Legolas's smelling-of-spring neck and pretended to sleep out the remainder of the meeting. He was only very little after all, and could be forgiven for not understanding. He hoped.

But warmth had been blossoming in his chest ever since Mr Legolas had said he didn't think Harry lied; that he thought Harry spoke the truth. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never have believed Harry. They would have locked him in his cupboard for telling tall stories, especially if he'd used the word "magic".

"As you say, Legolas, so shall I believe you," King Thranduil said now, dissolving any bit of fear Harry might have had left. "Now I should like to address another issue, and hope that one of my faithful elves can tell me without any dithering: what has happened to Harry Potter's cousin?"

Mirdhel spoke up and told the king. He told him how Harry had been injured, how he'd taken Harry to the healing rooms because his left wrist was slightly twisted and his face and stomach a mess of bruises, and how Harry told him all that had occurred between the two boys. The throne room was at its most silent since Harry had entered it. He shifted in the warm, comfortable arms that were wrapped around his waist and neck, hoping that the king would believe his friend. After all, if no one believed Mirdhel than that meant they didn't believe Harry.

"We all know," the king spoke once Mirdhel had finished explaining, "that there is something very queer about this young —" King Thranduil paused, and seemed to be trying to find a word he could use other than 'boy' "— magic child," he settled on, "who, tis obvious, is not an elf nor a child of man, no matter how he might look it. None of my elves can tell me from whence he came, nor can the dwarves in my dungeons under questioning. They simply say they came upon him unexpectedly in the forest and that he is very polite. This tells me nothing. The boy himself does not know. Although, I am forced to believe he has no ill intent and means us no harm. Legolas, he shall be put under your care and, when I need you, he shall be looked after by Mirdhel. I trust this is acceptable?"

"Yes, my Lord," Mirdhel and Mr Legolas said together, and bowed.

Harry grinned into Mr Legolas's hair. His two favourite elves in the world, and he, Harry, was going to be looked after by them. He thought his chest might burst with happiness. No more going back to Privet Drive with its pruned shrubs and bland walls and little cupboard. Harry would be living with elves. Magical elves.

Harry had a home.

After all, the _king_ had said so, and you had to listen to a king.

xxxxxx

"Nothing's changed much, has it, Mr Legolas," Harry said timidly a while later as his friend pulled a tunic over his head. His new clothes were finally finished. Mrs Wilwarin and a couple of other girl elves had worked quickly to mend old shirts and trousers of Mirdhel's (which they called "tunics" and "breeches") because he was the youngest elf in Mirkwood. Harry didn't understand why this was important, but didn't think to ask either. He was only grateful that he could wear something other than Dudley's old clothes and Mr Legolas's too big shirt.

"No, nothing has changed. It shall always be for you as it has been this past day," said Mr Legolas, again understanding exactly what Harry was talking about without Harry having to explain.

"Indeed," Mirdhel put in from his spot against the wall. "You shall play in the garden and help me if you wish. You will sleep in this room and take breakfast in the hall. Occasionally, like this eve, we shall go merrymaking in the forest. It is a wood-elf's favourite pastime."

"But is it _my_ favourite pastime? I'm not a wood-elf," Harry muttered, trying to yank up a trouser-leg only to get it stuck between his toes. Mr Legolas separated the fabric and helped him slide the rest of the trouser-leg up his own leg. Truthfully, it all sounded sort of boring to Harry, but better than spending the day in a cupboard at any rate.

_I should be thankful_, Harry thought firmly. _I have friend's now who actually want to spend time with me._

He also wondered what "eve" meant, but didn't dare ask. He had a feeling it might mean "night" or something like that, because Mirdhel had mentioned earlier that the merrymaking was going to be on that night. Harry also felt a little shy and foolish — he was going to be the only boy there. Mirdhel had said he was the youngest elf in Mirkwood and he was _fifty-seven_! Why should grown-ups want to hang around with Harry? Harry wasn't even ten yet!

He suddenly felt very alone, and sighed softly as Mr Legolas reached to the white-wood stand beside the bed for a comb. Harry didn't bother telling him it was useless.

Mr Legolas had paused at the small sigh. "What is the matter, _pen dithen_?"

It was the second time that day Harry had been called "little one" and it just brought it all home even more. He _was_ little. He was a boy and he was in the way and he was the youngest. _Maybe . . . maybe they don't really want to take care of me,_ Harry pondered to himself, hearty thumping wildly. _But they have to because the king made them. Maybe they'd prefer to be left alone._

"Nothing," Harry answered, staring down at his new shoes, and knowing that both elves were staring at him. "Nothing's the matter."

He failed to notice the elves exchanging glances above his head. "We shall not ask again, Harry, but know that you do not have to be shy in telling us anything. We shall not judge you."

Harry nodded, a little relieved, but not enough to chase away the doubts in his head. "May we go now, please?"

"Of course." Mr Legolas put down the comb and held out a slender but strong hand. Harry accepted it shyly.

Mr Legolas grinned, swooped down, and kissed Harry on his forehead.

Jewel green eyes blinked owlishly. "What was that for?" Harry asked, forgetting his manners in the face of his shock.

"Assurance," Mr Legolas said, his eyes twinkling. "Shall we go?" The hand in Harry's tightened.

"Let's."

xxxxxxxx

Legolas tightened an arm around the little body in his lap and accepted a goblet from the chief of the guards, Calaglin, who grinned at him. "How long has he been sleeping?"

"Two hours. He still suffers pain from the beating."

And indeed Harry did suffer; his little face a mass of yellow bruises, and his body bent over most crookedly to ease what little hurt was left in his stomach. Legolas experienced a whirl of guilt so profound his head spun with it. Although he had not been near the incident at the time, he should have remembered that Men, especially children of Men, heal much slower than elves. He could have reminded Mirdhel that Harry needed bed-rest. And Harry certainly had not helped with his propensity to show no emotions or tell of no pain — no matter how much he might be suffering.

A brave little fellow he was, trying not to bring notice to the hurt that had been done to him, but elves were observant creatures, Legolas even more so. Harry could no more hide his pain than an Oliphant could hide in a barren field.

"It is very strange," Calaglin commented, sitting cross-legged in the space next to him. "He looks so like a child of man, even sleeps as one."

"Yes, _mellon nin_, but he could also be the child from a union of Man and Maia. T'would explain his cousin, who displays no magical powers," Legolas said, taking a sip of the sweet wine. "Do you think my father has not thought of this? He thought long and well whether he should permit Harry to stay. He had not spent time with Harry as Mirdhel and I have. He had not seen how gentle the lad is, how very shy."

"You have already fallen in love with him, I take it!" Calaglin laughed.

"As has Mirdhel, I'd wager."

They both looked across the fire to Mirdhel, who was entertaining a knot of slightly drunk elves; a short jest, no doubt.

Legolas continued, eyes smiling. "Besides, it was very easy to. All Harry had to do was stare up at me with those large green eyes of his."

"They're very unusual," Calaglin admitted, peering down at the little face nestled against the elf Lord's chest. "Rather like a stray dog's, I'd say."

"That is very fine, indeed, Calaglin!" Legolas snapped, frowning darkly at his friend. "_A stray dog's!_ You could have thought up something better to compare him to!"

"Prince Legolas you mistake me," said Calaglin hastily, displaying his palms in a gesture of surrender. "I only meant that one sees sorrow in them, and misfortune also; one tends to feel pity. Please take no offence, my Lord. My tongue oft runs away without my brain." He tipped back his goblet and drank. "_Bah!_ Not as good as Dorwinion."

Legolas thought back to all the times he had met Harry, and shook his head. "Pity? Trust me, _mellon nin,_ pity is the last thing I feel for Harry. He deserves it not, nor does he deserve my sorrow. My friendship, aye, that I will give him and a home as well. For tis obvious he has been deprived of both. And how would you know what Dorwinion wine tastes like, Calaglin, my friend? My father and his Lords are the only elves permitted to drink it."

The dark-haired elf, who had been taking a deep drink as Legolas talked choked, sputtered, and coughed. "My dear Legolas; princeling you may be, but surely your ears need cleaning out? I mentioned _nothing_ about Dorwinion wine. _Nothing._"

The elf prince tilted his head to better observe his companion, whose silver eyes now seemed deeply interested in the contents of his goblet. "Well the 'nothing' you have mentioned should arrive at the end of the month."

Calaglin placed a hand over his heart and bowed as much as he could from his seated position. "I thank you most graciously, my Lord."

They both grinned.

"I should put Harry to bed," said Legolas, glancing down at his charge. "He needs rest. I shall see you on the morrow."

"If the little one does not steal more of your time, you mean."

Legolas grinned at him. "He would be stealing it with my blessing. Farewell."

"Farewell, my Lord."

Legolas stood, carefully cradling the small body, who was surely too tiny for seven. Another wave of protective instinct battered through Legolas's soul. It was very dangerous, he knew, for an elf to feel so much for a mortal. It wasn't healthy for Legolas's own well being for, as Calaglin had most perceptibly said, he had already fallen in love with little Harry. Impossible not to, as well-mannered and sorrowful as the boy was. Perhaps 'stray dog' was a more apt analogy than Legolas had first thought. A lonely, stray child without love, without friendship. And soulful eyes imploring, wishing, hoping for something tangible.

Legolas would give him that. Yes, it had not been at all difficult to fall in love with Harry.

The sounds and sights of joyous feasting, revelry, and torchlight were left in the distance as Legolas walked back to his father's caves, making no noise as he stepped over the dried leaves — an elf's light-footedness was a thing to behold, but Legolas barely paid it any notice. His blue eyes were ever watchful, piercing the gloom for a threat, yet his elvish senses perceived none. Spiders dared not venture too near the elven stronghold lest they be shot, but Legolas could still feel their presence in the East. Heavy, watchful, waiting along with something else. Some stirring malice . . .

He shivered, tightened his arms around Harry, and ran the rest of the way to the magic gates, his body so swift and light that the child in his arms felt nothing more than a gentle rocking motion, which only caused him to snuggle down even more comfortably.

Legolas remembered a time when Mirkwood was Greenwood and the trees devoid of evil, but that time had long past. Every week now elven patrols led by the prince himself would scout out their once fair land, engaging the spiders in battle. Occasionally, and more often these days, goblins clattered and screeched their way into the wood, but if the elves did not kill them then the spiders would, wrapping them in their sticky webs and sucking them of their foul blood. And not to mention all the other creatures that had decided to make Mirkwood their home. He wondered if Harry had encountered any in his journey through the wood. Some would try to kill him, while others would merely threaten. He wondered if Harry's magic protected him at those times when dying was otherwise unavoidable.

Once again fierce protectiveness arose in Legolas's heart. Harry need never be in a position to protect himself again. To think that two seven-year-old children, separated for the most part, lasted three days in the dark depths of Mirkwood. Legolas could only imagine what they felt.

He opened the gate, slipping through silently. He would have to go back to the merrymaking once he knew Harry was safe in his bed, for only the king and his kin could unlock the gates; a small mercy.

He reached Harry's room in a short while, resting the sleeping body on the bed. There was no need for a change of clothes — Harry was not dirty — but he would take off the soft boots. Eru knew what the little one had trod over on the forest path: animal droppings the least of which.

Harry's body flopped languorously along with his flyaway hair as the prince lord tucked him beneath fine blankets. Almost at once Harry flipped over onto his stomach, mumbling in that strange, harsh tongue, "Nuut yit Ahnth Petu-niyah," which Legolas could not hope to decipher no matter how he tried, and began a gentle snoring.

"Sleep well, _pen dithen_. What dreams may come, let them be joyous."

Legolas bent and pressed a short kiss to Harry's temple. The black hair ghosted across his lips, surprisingly silky for all its supposed knottiness. He brushed back that bit of curl, fingers lingering over the baby smoothness of the young one's cheek. Fair was Harry's skin; too fair, perhaps. As if he had been living in darkness for all his life, though Legolas could not imagine how that had come to be. Who had dared hurt this precious child? How could anyone hurt any child? Children were precious, rare, to be cherished and loved and embraced. As an elf, Legolas had never perceived differently: until Harry.

Straightening, the elf padded out of the room.

It was time to head back.

xxxxxx

**Translations:**

_Mellon nin_ – my friend

_Pen dithen_ – little one

xxxxxxx


	9. The Ghost in the Halls

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews. You lot make my day.

Enjoy the chapter.

xxxxxx

**Chapter Nine: The Ghost in the Halls**

The shocking disappearance of Dudley only affected Harry for a few days. By the time he convinced himself that Dudley was fine, that Harry hadn't sent him to a horrid place instead of back to Privet Drive, Mr Legolas had returned to his guard in the forest and wouldn't be back for at least another couple of days.

Harry hadn't been at all pleased to say goodbye, especially as Mr Legolas had only just come back from another patrol, but he reminded his brain that he was acting exactly like a clinging baby and that was that. Mr Legolas had had duties before Harry had come to stay in Mirkwood and would likely have duties long after Harry left. _Not that I will,_ Harry had thought desperately. _At least I hope I won't._ Harry's existence among the elves was the happiest he could ever remember being. He allowed he may have been happy with his parents, but that had been ages ago and he couldn't be bothered straining his brain trying to remember.

Rescuing the dwarves had also been a hopeless endeavour, for two reasons: The most worrying of which being that Harry just felt horrible trying to do so. The elves were all so nice to him, smiling at him as he walked down the corridors and offering him sweet meats when he stopped by the kitchen to see if they had any chocolate, playing hide-and-seek with him after asking Harry to explain the rules (he could never find them very fast and often had to peek between his fingers to see where they would hide), singing to him, sewing him clothes, and a whole host of other things that made Harry feel very warm and welcome and sometimes annoyed. He felt that last bit because they never seemed to want to leave him alone, like he was someone special or something. And of course there was Mirdhel and Mr Legolas, whom Harry liked very much.

And that was the problem: Mirdhel and Mr Legolas. Just thinking about going down to rescue the dwarves made Harry feel super awful, as though he'd betrayed his new friends. But then he would remember that the dwarves were his friends too, that they had rescued Harry from the dangerous forest, and he would become very confused and feel very helpless.

Harry's imagination didn't help things along either. More and more often he would find himself thinking how horrid a place the dungeons must be — full of rats and rotting and other nasty stuff. When he thought of his friends down there, in the horrid dark, he became quite petrified and an added layer of guilt would pile onto the previous layer until Harry's soul felt tired and he just wanted to go to sleep and think about all his problems in the morning.

And that wasn't even his only problem. It was how to get to the dungeons that was really stumping Harry now. He knew where they were, but as he made his way down the dark stone stairs the day after Mr Legolas left, he almost bumped into two guards (one of whom was very familiar) and had to think up a quick excuse about how he'd become lost and could they please point him to the gardens again?

Luckily they'd believed him (although the familiar elf threw him a slightly suspicious look, which Harry did his best to counter by staring innocently upwards) and was sent away with only a small warning not to wander down into the dungeons again.

Another week past. Mr Legolas came and went with the wind and Harry would spend more time with him than with anyone else on those days. At first he thought he oughtn't to because surely Mr Legolas had other important things to be doing and more important people to be visiting? But he felt better about it all upon thinking that it hadn't been his idea to spend a lot of time with Mr Legolas, that it had been the elf's, and Harry was taught archery and lots of other great stuff that seemed kind of stupid sometimes because, well, when would he ever need to use a bow and arrow? But it wasn't stupid because Mr Legolas was teaching him. He was a good teacher. Better than his old school teacher.

Harry was to be found in Mirdhel's garden on the days when Mr Legolas was away. It was funny, he'd never liked gardening before, but he rather enjoyed it with Mirdhel. Why that was, Harry didn't know. Perhaps the reason was because he didn't have Aunt Petunia breathing down his neck, or Uncle Vernon threatening to lock him in his cupboard, or Dudley attempting some solo Harry Hunting, and plenty of water and food whenever he wished. Perhaps it was simply Mirdhel who, sometimes, Harry would fall asleep on when he got too tired.

Mirdhel never seemed to mind, though.

The day after Mr Legolas left again Harry was once more in the garden with his other favourite elf.

"Oh. When?" he asked.

Mirdhel reached for a weed and pulled, frowning thoughtfully. "I would say some time in winter. It is spring now, and a time for feasts and celebrating and making merry. Learning will come later, when there is little do except sit in the Halls and ride out the cold."

Harry was puzzled by this. "But I thought elves don't feel cold like m – humans."

Mirdhel shot him smile. "We do not, but the animals do. And they are rarely out and about in the snow. What should we hunt when there is nothing _to_ hunt? Better for us to stay inside."

"Then what are we going to eat if we can't hunt?" asked Harry curiously.

"There is plenty to eat," said Mirdhel, sweeping his arm about. "What are we doing here?"

Harry sat on his knees beside the elf and leaned forward onto his hands. He'd noticed a while ago now that elves didn't have refrigerators. "You mean we can eat vegetables?" he asked curiously.

"Among other things," Mridhel said. "We have chickens and pigs and pickled fruit and vegetables. A whole host of dishes can be made with this. That is not to say, of course, that we shall be left without venison. No, we can still hunt, just not as often."

"Does that mean Mr Legolas still has to stay on the outskirts in winter?"

"When he is needed, yes."

"Oh."

Mirdhel looked up at him and smiled. "You are fond him."

Harry nodded shyly.

"He likes you too," said Mirdhel. "As do I. As do all elves in Mirkwood." He reached forward and brushed the back of his hand against Harry's cheek. "Never think otherwise, _Galenmir_."

Mirdhel and Mr Legolas always called him that now. "I don't. Not anymore anyway."

"I should hope not."

Harry gazed at the elf. Mirdhel had quite long hair, all the way down his back, which he tied up in a knot on top of his head when gardening. His fingers were long and strong and he was the kindest elf in Mirkwood and Harry wanted to be just like him when he grew up. "Would you like some help, Mirdhel?"

"It is kind of you to offer, _pen dithen_, but these weeds are a little too strong for such slender arms as yours." As if to demonstrate this Mirdhel grasped an especially fat weed and tried pulling it. When that didn't work he lifted a spade and dug it out, then wiped a gloved hand over his brow. Somehow he'd managed not to smear dirt on it. "Now, where is that sack? Ah, would you be so kind — not that way, _Galenmir_, who put it inside out?"

It was exactly a day later, another ordinary day with helping Mirdhel and playing in the garden, when Harry first found Draedan. He'd been hiding in the grass and Harry had sat on him. He'd sat on him because the grass was cushiony thick, came up to his ankles, and was favourable for a late afternoon nap. Harry hadn't been able to resist bunkering down beneath the shady leaves of a giant oak. While Mirdhel and three other elves were busy watering, weeding, and planting Harry snuck away to that spot and had just sat down when there was a little groan of pain.

He'd shot up so fast that it felt like Dudley was chasing him again.

Then Harry had whirled, eyes searching desperately for the owner of the small voice, but finding nothing. It was then that the thought had come: Had Harry, in fact, sat on an invisible person? Magic existed, after all. Who was to say that invisible people didn't exist as well? But no, it hadn't been an invisible person, rather a tiny green garden snake, and Harry (after first apologising then asking whether it would like to live with him) had named him Draedan in elvish, which means small dragon.

Harry, in his seven-year-old naivety, never thought to question just how he could understand Draedan and make himself understood back. He'd rationalised that, since he could speak elvish and Mr Baggins's language without having to learn it, why not snake language too? It all seemed perfectly logical to him. He never noticed the curious stares he received from some elves that caught him whispering into his cupped palms on occasions, nor did he think to realise that perhaps Mirdhel had noticed. He had only thought to realise when Mirdhel confronted him about it that very same night in the eating hall.

"To whom are you speaking, Harry?"

Harry had just been talking into his wrist, which Draedan was curled around, asking the snake if it would like something to eat. "Draedan," said Harry, spooning some soup into his mouth.

For a second Mirdhel looked bewildered. "You have a dragon under you sleeve, _pen dithen_?"

"No," said Harry.

"Ah, I thought not."

"Draedan's a snake."

There was a loud clatter. Mirdhel had dropped his spoon, spattering soup on the table. "A snake?! You have a snake under your sleeve!"

"Yes," Harry frowned. Mirdhel was acting quite odd.

"Where did you find it?"

Harry blinked once. His friend sounded very frantic. "I sat on him in the garden. I didn't mean to. He was disguised, you see, the same colour as the grass, and I said was sorry straight away. Would you like to see him? I'll ask him to come out. He doesn't come out unless I tell him to. He's very shy. That's why he hides in the grass all the time."

Mirdhel looked less shocked now and more curious. "Why is he not there now?"

"Because he's my friend. He doesn't want to go back where he's all alone. Besides, it's warmer under my sleeve."

"I should like to see him if I can, Harry."

"Oh, right." Harry bent down and hissed into his wrist. _"Draedan, Mirdhel wantss to meet you. He'ss my other friend. Remember I told you about friends? Don't worry, he won't hurt you. I promise to put you back sstraight away."_

Draedan grumbled but uncurled himself, allowing Harry to pluck him out. When Harry held him up for Mirdhel to see, the elf was staring with a tilted head and inquisitive eyes.

"What is it, Mirdhel?"

Mirdhel blinked a little, eyes flitting up to Harry's. "You truly are magic. I have only ever known _Istari_ to comminute as completely as you do with animals."

"I'm not a wizard," Harry laughed. "I'm a boy."

"Yes, but what kind of boy: Elven or mortal or maia?" Mirdhel waved a hand. "Never mind. As long as Draedan does not hurt you, and I do not think he will as he is only a garden snake, than I am fine with you keeping him."

Harry didn't trouble to mention that he would have kept Draedan anyway. He really liked Mirdhel and didn't want to hurt his feelings. In fact, sometimes, he got that same feeling around Mirdhel that he felt around Mr Legolas — as though Harry had met him before.

And that was comforting.

xxxxx

It occurred to Harry the next day — as he passed the cave that went down to the dungeons — that Draedan was simply perfect for spying. He was small, thin, made no noise and had a really good sense of smell. He could also slither through cracks and around light elvish feet without being seen. The only problem Harry had was making himself understood. Sometimes Draedan just wouldn't get it when Harry said words like "bed" or "kitchen" or "dungeons" or "dwarves". Instead, Harry would have to say "place of rest", "the great stomach that food is stored in", "cold, smelly place", and "short, smelly two-footers".

Draedan was a lazy snake and wasn't particularly inclined to scout out the dungeons for Harry, especially when there was a possibility that he might get trod on. But Harry promised him a mouse.

He stopped by the kitchens for something to eat after making sure his snake had completely slithered under the door crack. Harry would be meeting him later in his "place of rest".

Harry entered the busy kitchen where a dozen or so elves were preparing lunch. It was a large, noisy familiar place and smelled faintly of metal and warmth and that, to Harry, meant comfort. Elves were walking back and forth, adding stuff to all the various dishes. A girl elf stood by the window fanning herself with a piece of bread, before looking down and realising her mistake. Another elf was testing out the soup on the stove and in the corner, sitting on a short stool, an elf squeezed an upside chicken between his legs and was plucking it dry. For some reason Harry's mind flashed back to when Aunt Petunia almost scissored him bald.

"Oh, what have we here?" said the head cook, who had a darker shade of blond hair than Mirdhel. He wiped his hands on a cloth hanging from his belt, crouched down before Harry, and smiled. "What can I help you with today?"

Harry mock-sighed. "I guess you still don't have any chocolate."

The elf pretended to think. "I am afraid not. But chocolate is a sweet, as you told me, and we are baking something extra special for supper tonight."

"Is it a cake?" asked Harry. He would give anything to try cake.

"I cannot tell you that," laughed the cook. Harry wondered whether all elves had laughs like spring rain.

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously.

"Let me think," said the cook, tapping his chin. "It would hardly be a surprise, would it, if I told you beforehand?"

"I guess not."

"And where is your snake today?" The elf looked down at Harry's hand. "Curled about your wrist or off making mischief?"

Harry gaped. _Off making mischief!_ "How did _you_ know about Draedan?"

"Elves love to gossip, I am sure," the cook answered, throwing Harry a pretty grin.

"Oh." Well, that was just fine.

A hand disappeared into the cook's apron and produced a red apple. "Here. This should hold you until lunch."

"Thank you, sir."

The cook ruffled his hair, which Harry hated. "Take care of yourself, little one, and come back tomorrow."

"I will," Harry promised, closing the doors behind him. He bit into his apple and, satisfied with the crunch, made off to his room.

He was just stepping into the corridor that led to his bedroom when he bumped into something, dropped his apple, and fell down.

"Oomph!"

Harry froze, then scrambled onto his knees. That had not been him. He had not made that sound. "Who's there?"

The corridor echoed with quiet.

"Hello? I know you're there, I felt you!" said Harry, becoming angry. "You can't pretend anymore."

He heard nothing for five seconds until a shuffling sound came from right in front of him. The kind of sound people make when they're getting up off the floor.

Harry didn't waste anytime. He leapt and, sure enough, captured something squirmy, something alive. Something that was squeaking a lot. "No, no, get off!" said the squirmy thing and Harry was so shocked that he sat back, not realising his mistake until later.

The squirmy thing was huffing heavily and Harry could feel its warm breath on his face, tickling his fringe. The next thing he heard were footsteps slapping on the marble floors, getting quieter and further away.

"Why wouldn't somebody wear shoes?" said Harry to himself. The answer seemed close, but he couldn't work it out.

He did know this, though: that whatever he had bumped in to must have been the same thing that had stolen his apple the week before and had probably been on its way to the kitchens to steal more food. Then Harry gasped, eyes flying to his dropped fruit. He sighed. It was not stolen. A little dirty, perhaps, but nothing some water wouldn't wash off. He was used to picking up Dudley's scraps off the floor anyway.

xxxxx

It was three hours later by the time Draedan finally slithered back, squeezing under Harry's door, up Harry's bed, and onto Harry's face, waking him up by poking out his tongue and tickling Harry's cheek. Now Harry hugged him to his chest, listening.

His heart sank.

There was no way that he could go down into the dungeons without being seen. And even if he managed to, how could he unlock the dwarves' cells? He was only a little boy. He supposed he could steal the keys, but that seemed really wrong, especially as how all the elves had been very nice to him.

What was he going to do?

xxxxx

Harry and Mr Legolas sat in the archery garden, polishing quivers with bees wax. It had taken Harry's little fingers a while to get used to the correct direction in which to polish, but Mr Legolas was patient. A few other elves were shooting arrows at far away targets but they weren't bothering the two sitting off to the side. The day was cool and breezy and the trees provided a lot of lovely shade. Harry could almost fall asleep.

He didn't, though. He needed to ask his friend something; something that had been bothering him for a day.

"Are ghosts real?"

Mr Legolas set down his leather quiver and brush, looked at Harry. "Ghosts?"

"Yes. Are they real and does Mirkwood have any?"

"Ghosts do not exist, Harry, except when people misplace their honour in life in a way so foul that they must therefore pay the crime in death; cursed to exist among the living, yet still shamed." Mr Legolas smiled. "There are no ghosts in my Father's Halls, for what elf could ever shame themselves so completely as to become one?"

Harry nodded. That made sense. Elves were the nicest people in the world.

Mr Legolas shifted so that he faced Harry, arms holding his knees. "That was an odd question, little one, what made you think of it?"

"Just curious," Harry shrugged. He felt awful about lying to his friend, but Mr Legolas had said that there weren't any ghosts in the palace and Harry would look stupid if he told him that he'd bumped in to one. "What about invisible people?"

Mr Legolas seemed amused. "Pardon?"

"Can people become invisible?"

Mr Legolas looked away, licking his lip. "There are said to be certain things in the world, certain objects that can hide a person — our kin in Lothlorien have discovered the ingredient for making cloaks that can disguise a person so thoroughly as to seem part of the landscape. Tis elvish magic, and very old." The elf's hair glittered like golden silver in the dappled sunlight as he brushed it back from his face thoughtfully. "There are also said to be magic rings that hold such power, but they are long lost, disappeared in the ages until not even the oldest of us remember what happened to them."

"So, they're gone forever? No one would be able to find them?"

"I would say not, but anything is possible, _pen dithen_. What has brought about this barrage of questions? Are you uninterested in our present doings? Is that the problem? Would you prefer doing something else?"

Harry was horrified that he'd given that impression. "No, I don't. Really. I was just interested, that's all. How old are you Mr Legolas?" asked Harry, changing the subject quickly.

"Legolas, _Galenmir_, remember?" said his friend gently, and gave Harry a side-ways look. "We are more than just strangers now. I am your guardian."

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. He had forgotten.

"As to how old I am . . . nearly three thousand winters have I seen in Middle-Earth and not all of them were cold as they are now."

Harry frowned. That sounded odd. "What do you mean, Mist—Legolas?" Harry would always think of Mr Legolas as Mr Legolas, no matter what he had to call him.

"I mean that Mirkwood was not always as it is now. It was once a place where no evil lingered, but then the necromancer . . ." Mr Legolas looked uncomfortable. "Forgive me, Harry, I should not be telling one so young such things."

"I'm _seven_!" Harry protested.

Mr Legolas tapped him on the nose. "And a very mature seven, but still not mature enough to listen to this horror. Up you go!"

Harry was picked up and stood on the thick grass. Mr Legolas followed with a light leap. "Wow," said Harry.

"Enough for today!" said Mr Legolas, grasping Harry's hand. "Lunch beckons and I, for one, would like to taste some of the cake that I heard everyone going on about this morning."

"It was really tasty," Harry said, walking faster to keep up with his companion. His head barely reached Mr Legolas's upper leg. "It wasn't chocolate but it had other stuff in it." He leaned in to whisper. "I think the cook made it for me but I didn't want to tell anyone else."

Mr Legolas threw back his head and laughed, so that his hair dangled like a waterfall down his back.

Harry caught some strands on his face, plucked one, and smushed it between his fingers, marvelling at how soft it was. Suddenly, the strands pulled taught and the elf let out an "Ah!"

Mr Legolas had straightened his head again, resulting in Harry pulling his hair. "Sorry," he snickered, unable to help himself.

"Sorry, are you? I think not," was what Harry heard before he was picked up, tossed into the air, and hung upside down over the elf's shoulder.

"Watch out for Draedan!" he screeched, then burst into high-pitched giggles as Mr Legolas tickled him. "No, no, I won't laugh at you anymore I promise. I promise!"

His guardian sighed. "Well, if you promise, then I suppose I must stop." He turned Harry the right way up, embraced him, and deposited him gently on the ground.

Harry breathed deeply, his cheeks red. "My stomach hurts."

There must have been a really horrible expression on his face because Mr Legolas looked suddenly concerned.

"It doesn't really hurt," Harry said quickly before Mr Legolas could think to apologise. "I think I just laughed too hard."

The elf's face cleared. "Ah, good," he said. Then lifted a hand and waved at the archers, who waved back. "You are certain?" he asked again, sounding a little unsure.

Harry nodded firmly. "Yes." That wasn't what was bothering him though, not at all; it was Mr Legolas's closeness. Harry Potter was not used to affection. He was not used to hugging and cuddling and being treated like a child. But all the elves seemed to want to give him at least one hug or pat on the head, and Mirdhel and Mr Legolas always put him on their laps and when Harry would wake up he'd feel very embarrassed and not know why.

He was _not_ a baby! But everyone seemed to be treating him like one. He had to admit that he didn't mind so much with his two favourite elves, but he still felt uncomfortable.

Harry and Mr Legolas waited until the three elves packed up the quivers, climbed a tree, and stored them in a hut amongst the branches. When they joined them on the ground the group moved onward.

"_Harry eneth nîn,"_ Harry answered to an inquiry about his name. "And I don't know if I like raspberries or not. I haven't ever tasted them before." He managed not to shy away as the elf laughed delightedly and smoothed back Harry's hair.

"Show us a magic trick, Harry," another asked, pushing in beside the other elf.

Harry almost tripped over a twig, but grabbed onto Mr Legolas's leg at the last moment. His guardian smiled down at him and offered a hand. Harry took it. For a moment he stared, astonished once more at how large Mr Legolas's hand was compared to his own. "I don't know how I do it. I just wish and wish and wish and it happens."

They all blinked.

"I can't wish now, though, because there's nothing I really want to happen. Would you like a leaf? I found it earlier. It's gold and pretty, like your hair." Harry took it out of his pocket and held it up.

"Thank you." The elf, looking a touch bewildered, accepted the delicate leaf.

"I hear you have a snake," said the elf walking next to Mr Legolas. "Might I inquire as to how you found it?"

Harry could not believe it. "Does everyone know I have a snake?" he asked irritably, and sighed. "I sat on him and he spoke to me."

"Spoke to you?!" They all, except Mr Legolas, said.

"Yes. Snake language is much better than any other language 'cause no one else can understand me."

They all muttered to themselves. Harry heard the words _Istar_ and _Maia _tossed around a few times.

It took the group an extra ten minutes to get back to the main hall. The corridors in the palace were always dark because they were made from caves and had only torchlight on the walls. In fact, everything was made from caves except the garden and stables and archery forest. Yes, Harry loved it in Mirkwood, and hoped he would never have to leave, ever. He hoped the Dursley's never found him in this magical place.

Unless Dudley told them where he was, but his family wouldn't care, and for the first time Harry was grateful for that.

xxxxx

A/N: The next chapter will be out in two weeks. All chapters thereafter will be updated every two weeks until otherwise stated.

**Translations: **

_Pen dithen_: little one

_Galenmir_: green jewels (in regards to his eye colour, obviously)

_Harry eneth nîn_: My name is Harry

_Istari:_ wizards _(pl.)_

_Istar:_ wizard _(s.)_

_Maia:_ Angel/demi-god (in response to Harry being the child of a "Maia" as the elves seem to think. Wizards in Middle-Earth are also Maiar).

_Maiar: (pl.)_

xxxxx


	10. Harry in the Stream

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks so much to all your many reviews. I couldn't have done this without your support.

Hope you enjoy.

xxxxx

**Chapter Ten: Harry in the Stream**

Harry hummed the Wood-elf guard song under his breath as he followed the marching wardens down a corridor one late afternoon. They were singing very loudly and prettily and would not have heard Harry even had he been singing as loud as they. Still, he would not raise his voice until he tired of the game. The elves knew he was behind them, but they played along and pretended they didn't. Sometimes Harry would even whistle, but he wasn't very good. His whistling tended to sound a lot like Aunt Petunia's shrill voice screeching at him to make breakfast.

Elves loved to laugh, Harry had discovered. Very much so. They would laugh delightedly at the littlest things (like Harry's shoelaces). Everywhere there would be elves singing or dancing or laughing . . . it was as though Harry had entered a different world! To his knowledge grown-ups never acted like that. Harry found it difficult to imagine Uncle Vernon climbing a tree or dancing in a circle or singing all the time. That was _not_ normal behaviour.

And that was why Harry Potter loved it. And loved the elves, too. It was impossible not to love them; most times they were like grown-ups and went about grown-up business, but sometimes they were like large children.

He left the singing guards a few minutes later and marched out into another corridor, still humming under his breath. A few elves stopped to wave at him and Harry waved back. They laughed and sang and marched away, and then they were gone; so far that Harry couldn't hear them anymore.

"_What wass that all about?"_ asked Draedan. For a very tiny snake he had rather a deep voice.

Harry looked down at his wrist, where Draedan had uncurled his head and was peering up curiously. _"I wass playing a game,"_ he explained.

A forked tongue darted quick as a flash._ "What iss a game? Does it have anything to do with mice?"  
_

How excited his snake sounded. _"It might. But not everything's about food, you know."_

"_I'll not be interested in anything unless it has to do with food,"_ said Draedan stubbornly.

How rude._ "Maybe you ought to stop talking before I get really cranky,"_ said Harry.

Draedan grumbled but said nothing more. Then he curled himself back about Harry's wrist. And, even though they had just had their first small spat, Harry did not think Draedan meant to squeeze that tight. When Harry let out a small _"Ow,"_ the tightening quickly subsided.

He was going exploring today. Mr Legolas was away once more, this time to do business in the East. Whatever that meant. It sounded horrible, though, because Mr Legolas had looked a little worried and even the King had gone with him. So, not wanting to spend another afternoon gardening and with Mr Legolas gone, Harry thought he should explore instead. There were plenty of nooks in the palace: lots of unaccounted for rooms. The corridor Harry was now in was a new one in fact. One that he had never seen before.

It looked like all the others, he had to admit, but there was no harm in exploring.

"_Where are we going now?"_ asked Draedan in a small, hesitant voice, as though afraid Harry would yell at him. _"It tastes different here."_

Harry stopped. _"What do you mean?"_

"_It tastes nearly like the cold smelly place you made me go down last week."_ Draedan poked out his tongue. _"I almost got stepped on, you know."_

Harry ignored the grumbling tone and asked: _"You mean the dungeons? It smellss like the dungeons?"_

"_Yess."_

That was interesting. Perhaps there was some sort of entryway down here that led to a cellar. Harry knew there was an entryway leading down to the stockroom, but that was on the other side of the palace, next to the kitchen. Perhaps there was another stockroom here? It wouldn't hurt to find out.

With Draedan as a guide — poking his tongue out every so often to get a taste of the air — Harry walked down the corridor, following the many twists, entering a hidden passage that was concealed by a supposed bedroom door, (he was beginning to feel very excited now) and turning into another corridor, until finally . . .

"_The air iss cold and damp here,"_ said Draedan. _"Even more than that dungeon place." _He slithered up Harry's arm and draped himself about Harry's neck so that he looked like an extremely thin choker, the tip of his tail flicking Harry's collarbone in a ticklish but bearable way. _"Now don't bother me anymore, I want to ssleep."_

Harry put his new green hood up so that Draedan would be warmer and more unnoticeable. He felt very like an elf with his new silver and green clothes, especially with his hooded cloak — exactly like the one Mr Legolas sometimes wore.

With a leap in his stomach, Harry entered the narrow stone-stair passageway. The stairs looked as though they had been carved from the rock of the cave, but they weren't lumpy, not at all. They were smooth and gleaming, like the corridors. Harry could not see very well in the dark, and there were hardly any torches here so he had to rely on Draedan's little tongue to lead the way.

Harry stepped down, holding every so often onto the wall for balance. He was very little and the stairs were spaced very wide apart and he didn't want to fall. Seconds later — and after almost slipping down one particularly wet step — he thought he was close to the bottom because he could hear an odd sound. Trickling and plopping, and yet sometimes rushing. Like water.

_Strange, _he thought, pausing to listen for a moment._ What's water doing in a cellar?_ He thought about asking his friend for help again but decided against it. Draedan was a grumpy snake. Also Harry would find out very soon. He trod cautiously down the last few steps in case he came across any elves. He'd already imagined up a good excuse in case that happened — he had become lost again because he was playing hide and seek with Draedan.

Harry was quite sure that he wasn't allowed here as it had not been shown to him by Wilwarin. He only hoped the elves would believe his excuse.

There was a kind of platform at the bottom, again made out of cave, and Harry came to a stop on it.

He gasped.

_It really is water!_

A faintly rushing river, perhaps as wide as a road, lay spread before him. It was coloured black by the dark of the caves and smelled faintly of breeze and freshness. Harry could only see a bit of it as the rest sort of curved on either side, rushing from the left cave and into the right, which was sloping slightly downwards. Opposite Harry lay another long platform, and here rested about five or so barrels. Harry, if he squinted, could just make out a large door beyond the torchlight. Another way out and up perhaps.

_I'm underground,_ Harry thought in awe. _I'm under the hill. It's an underground river!_

So _that_ was where all the water came from. As far as Harry knew there were only two pumps in the palace: one in the gardens that Mirdhel used to water his plants with, and another in the kitchens. But now Harry could see that there must be a lot more than he'd thought: at the far end of the stream against either side of the cave walls were twenty or so pipes leading up through the rock of the ceiling. Harry, letting his gaze follow them up, was surprised to note that there were dozens of glowing blue things on the ceiling as well. And they were wriggling!

He had no idea what they were but he had to admit they were pretty.

Also on the ceiling, directly above the rushing river, lay what looked like trap doors. There were three of them, and they were fairly large. Harry had absolutely no idea what they were for, but as he couldn't hope to reach them, he dismissed them from memory.

What really intrigued him, though, was the door on the other side of the river. Harry was certain that something great and adventurous was lying in wait behind there. But how to get to it? There should be something to cross the water with, shouldn't there? Like a bridge, similar to the one outside the palace. Eyes scrolling downwards, he walked along the stream's edge, squinting slightly in the darkness. "This is never going to work!" he said to himself irritably.

Harry rushed back to the steps; on the wall beside them was a long torch. He stood on tiptoe and tried to remove it. It scraped against its holding but held firm.

He would need both arms. But he was too short! He would need to stand on something. But what? As if by magic he spotted the outline of a bucket near the water's edge, in the blackness; the same kind of bucket that the elves brought water in for his nightly bath. _Oh,_ he thought stupidly, and went to get it.

Moments later Harry (using both hands) was pointing the heavy torch near the water and walking along the platform. "Aha!" said triumphantly, but softly, aware of the echo. There, just in front of the left cave entrance, was an extremely narrow wooden plank, bobbing a little in the rushing water. It was tied to both platforms by a thin rope on either end, which was threaded through a small metal pole, jammed into the rock.

Harry was feeling very adventurous now and, despite experiencing a little fear in knowing he would have to cross the wooden plank, it did not deter him from his quest — which was to see behind the door. Uncle Vernon certainly never had underground rivers and secret doors beneath his house. But if he had Harry would have found them.

Placing the torch on the ground, he stepped hesitantly onto the plank. Immediately it wobbled. Harry jumped back. It occurred to him, after a few minutes of thinking, that the best way to do this would be to run really fast across the plank. Harry was not an elf, he could not do this like Mr Legolas or Mirdhel — who, Harry was positive, could simply stroll along as though they were walking on normal ground — but he was also little and light and that had to count for something, he was sure.

"Right, then." Heart beating furiously he clenched his fists, bit his lip, and rushed across the plank.

He wasn't going to make it. Harry knew that before he reached middle. The plank was wobbling alarmingly now and tipped dangerously to the right. His arms flailed, he locked his legs, but it was no use. He had just enough time to shout a warning to Draedan before he was falling.

The water was cold, fizzy from his fall, and the current was strong. He hadn't expected _that_! Harry beat upwards feverishly, legs kicking against the rushing water. He hadn't expected the depth either, but it was really deep. His heart was beating very fast now, his limbs working hard and, with bursting lungs, he finally broke the water, hands grappling for the plank, finding it, breathing in the sweet air. So sweet. So good. So tired. He was so tired. And frightened. Harry thought he had never been so scared in his life before, even when Dudley was chasing him. It took his brain a while to grasp that he had almost died. The knowledge turned him cold.

He brushed his soppy fringe from his face as he stood there, bobbing silently, a forgotten figure in the midst of the uncaring stream. Suddenly he was crying. This lasted a short while until hiccups took over, then nothing.

He had lost Draedan.

Numb. That's all Harry felt later as he walked along the corridors, shoes squelching beneath his feet and water trailing behind him. He didn't notice, but he wouldn't have cared if he did. Something burned in his stomach, and it was an unpleasant, frighteningly new feeling that made him want to cry again. The knowledge that he had killed off his friend, who had done nothing and was innocent and had been sleeping, was terrifying. He, Harry, was a monster. He was no better than Dudley. He was worse! Dudley had never killed anybody. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been right all along: he _was_ a freak! Hotness built behind his eyes, and Harry blinked it away. Crying would get him nowhere and would only make him feel more horrible.

_But that's good,_ he thought nastily at himself. _I deserve to feel horrible. I killed Draedan!_

"Draedan," he whispered, throat croaky.

Later Harry sat huddled in the garden beneath a berry bush, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at nothing. Unwanted tears trickled down his face. Harry let them trickle. He deserved it. Mirdhel found him a while later and, spotting the wetness on Harry's smooth cheeks, the astonished elf quickly picked him up and cuddled him. He tried getting Harry to tell him what was wrong, but the boy simply shook his head and buried his face into the elf's neck.

"How did you get all wet? Hmm?"

Harry did nothing.

"You almost missed supper. I was becoming worried."

Harry shrugged.

"Where is Draedan?"

Harry burst into sobs. He could not help it; he couldn't hold it in anymore. He was a horrible, horrible person!

Mirdhel, on the other hand, was bewildered. Harry had never shown an inclination toward crying, even when Dudley had attacked him. This, both Mirdhel and Legolas had thought, was odd behaviour for a child. As was Harry's shyness at being cuddled or touched or approached in an affectionate manner. It was as if he had never been loved before, and this had confused the elves, for all elf children were treated with loving care and affection.

Of course this was before they all realised that Harry had not been loved — why, just looking at his cousin and the way he treated Harry was enough to ascertain the truth. Most humans were afraid or suspicious of anything that they did not understand; elves had been subject to this behaviour for Ages. Harry's mortal family seemed to be in the same mould — but they oft took it too far, was Mirdhel's thought on the matter. This was why Harry acted as he did.

To see Harry now willingly cry and willingly let himself be held for more than a minute worried Mirdhel. Frighteningly so. What could have happened to change Harry's behaviour so drastically and in so short a time?

"Will you tell me what is the matter, _Galenmir_?" Mirdhel held his lips against the soft throat, surprised but pleased when Harry's little arms tightened about his neck.

"I-I don't . . ." Harry's voice came muffled and small. "You'll hate me."

_What?_ "No _never_!" Mirdhel hugged him fiercely. "You are my little one, and I can never hate you. Now tell me what has happened."

"I-I . . ." Harry was obviously struggling, and Mirdhel patted his head soothingly, encouragingly. Harry was silent for a moment. Then: "I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident and it all happened so fast and I would have saved him if I could, but I fell and it was rushing everywhere and I couldn't breathe, and Draedan must've slipped and then he was lost and swept away and now he's gone forever, and I tried to find him I really did, and it took me ages to look, and I tried grabbing the torch but it dropped and I didn't want to go back in to get it, and it's all my fault. I killed Draedan!"

"Eru and Elbereth," Mirdhel breathed, astonished both at how quickly Harry had said that, and how confusing it had all been. He understood most of it, however. "I would never believe that you . . . lost . . . Draedan deliberately." That was right, the more delicately said the better. "You should not believe it either."

"But I don't." Harry lifted his head and looked at Mirdhel, eyes wet with unshed tears. "I know it was an accident, but it was my fault anyway. If I hadn't been there, if I hadn't done that . . ." He slumped back against Mirdhel, sniffling every now and then.

"Ah, Harry." Mirdhel smoothed out the small tufts of wet fringe, revealing the odd-looking scar, bright against the pale skin. What to do now? Harry surely could not go to supper in this vulnerable state. Best to put him to bed with some hot soup and a bath and sort it all out tomorrow. "Twill be all right, Harry. You did not intend to . . . loose . . . your snake. These things happen." Mirdhel thought on whether he should reprimand Harry for being where he clearly was not supposed to be, but considering he himself did not know where Harry had been (and if, indeed, it even had been a place where Harry was not permitted), he could hardly lay yet more blame on the little one. He did not _wish_ to place more blame on Harry when he was plainly so distraught. He would wait before asking. At least a day or two.

xxxxxx

That night Harry couldn't sleep. Guilt at having killed his little friend itched through his chest, up his throat, coming to a rest behind his eyes. Harry stubbornly blinked back the tears. He could not _believe_ how stupid he had acted with Mirdhel. Strangely, he couldn't bring himself to care. Remembering that he had killed Draedan overrode any feeling of embarrassment.

He sighed miserably, turned under the sheet, and hugged the pillow. There was something wrong with this room. Harry could not get comfortable, no matter how hard he tried. It was just too big and hollow. He needed something smaller, something more familiar. He felt like hiding. He felt like he should be in his cupboard. He was _missing_ his cupboard; his cupboard which smelled of old blankets and hosted a ceiling full of cobwebs. His cupboard which he would sometimes be locked in for weeks at a time. His cupboard, which he had always hated until he'd come to this place.

_I can't believe it. If I keep this up I'll be missing the Dursleys soon._

Harry's eyes shot open as he realised . . . he deserved his cupboard. If ever he had deserved to be punished for something, what had happened today was it. Maybe he should ask Mirdhel to lock him in with the gardening tools. The thought drew a sob from his throat, which he quickly squelched.

Sleep. He needed sleep. It would all be clearer in the morning.

He hoped.

xxxxxxx

He hadn't slept very much, perhaps a couple of hours, and now he was to be found yawning widely at the breakfast table. Mirdhel was buttering him a piece of honeyed toast, thick and crunchy. Harry took it and stared at it.

"Are you not hungry?" Mirdhel asked, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I am," said Harry. It was just that he didn't feel like eating.

Mirdhel lifted a sliver jug from the centre and poured some warm milk into a goblet. He set it in front of Harry's plate. "Would you prefer something else?"

"This is good," Harry told him, and bit into the bread. Licking his lips of the sweet, slightly melted honey, he reached for his goblet to wash down the food.

Mirdhel left him to his breakfast, perhaps realising that Harry wanted to be alone for the moment. Harry wasn't surprised when he later saw a piece of toast float into the air and disappear under the table. Nor was he surprised that no one else had seemed to notice. He sighed. The ghost, or invisible person, had come back. Thinking of invisible people only made him remember Draedan and how Harry had first assumed he was an invisible person.

A sudden tight wrenching pulled at his stomach.

Harry drank some more milk, as if the action alone would help quell the pain.

It didn't.

" . . . am to understand that the king believes they are hiding treasure?" Mirdhel was saying incredulously, which drew Harry's attention.

An elf opposite snorted. Harry recognised him as one who had stopped him from accessing the dungeons last week. The suspicious one. He was easy to identify because of his dark hair, which stood out very much when compared to all the other elves. And suddenly Harry knew where he had seen him before: at the merrymaking! Mr Legolas had been talking to him.

"Of course they are hiding treasure!" said the elf, gesticulating with his hand. "They are dwarves. All this sneaking about in the forest where they are not supposed to be, refusing to tell us their business when we capture them. And clearly they are in a desperate situation. Even the promise of freedom cannot get them to say anything, and Thranduil has offered countless times. It must be a mighty treasure indeed that they hide."

"We all know that the king, however fair and just and beautiful he may be, is still greedy in the end, Calaglin," said an elf next to Mirdhel. Harry had met him for the first time last week in the archery garden. "Tis a fault, yes, and a bad one, but every person's soul is tainted with these, and this is his. And yours, too, I suspect."

Calaglin sputtered. "Urúvion!"

"You can posture all you like," said Urúvion, lifting a hand, "but it is a truth that everyone at this table can see and acknowledge. Tis a pity Thranduil is not more like his son. I love him, as any subject loves and respects his king, but I am not fooled by his manner. His desires are plain: he wants the dwarves' treasure for himself. Wood-elves have a certain weakness for jewels and precious metals, and his weakness is just weaker than the rest of ours'."

This put all three elves in a thoughtful silence for a few moments, then Mirdhel lifted his head. "He holds them for selfish reasons, then. I admit I like treasure as much as the next Wood-elf — and dislike dwarves' even more! — but they have done nothing except trespass where they could not have known they trespassed."

"More than enough reason to imprison them," said Calaglin.

"Are we then to throw Harry in the dungeons?" asked Mirdhel, looking down into his plate. This silenced Calaglin immediately. "He trespassed as well. Should we lock him up?"

They all stared at Harry, who stared back.

"Ai, no," Calaglin moaned, flapping a graceful hand. "How can you even suggest it?"

"I was simply making a point," explained Mirdhel quietly. "Harry knows that I love him —" Harry didn't, in fact, know that, but now that he did it stunned him "— and he knows I mean nothing by it. In any case we should not be discussing this in front of him. He has alluded many times in conversation with me, though he may not know it, that the dwarves are his friends." Mirdhel smiled at Harry softly. "From what I understood they rescued him in the wood and looked after him for a day or so before they stumbled upon our feasting."

"They did," Harry said flatly, surprising everyone. "And I don't want them to be in the dungeons. I don't like it."

There was a delicate silence. The conversation was changed quickly to other things, and Harry ate the rest of his breakfast with a cold stomach. Now he was even more certain that he had to rescue the dwarves, though he felt as though he'd be betraying Mirdhel doing so, it just couldn't be helped. It wasn't fair that his friends were in the dungeons while he was enjoying a nice big breakfast and could walk outside anytime he pleased.

Harry spent the rest of the next couple of days in complete confusion and misery. Having killed Draedan, then finding out what the king had done to the dwarves, just made him feel helpless, guilty, and stupid. Mr Legolas still hadn't come back either, and Harry dreaded the talk he knew he would not be able to avoid.

On the afternoon on the third day since Draedan was swept away, Harry found him in the garden again.

For a moment his footsteps halted. His eyes failed him. It just _couldn't_ be. Probably it was another snake. But no, it was Draedan, and Harry picked him up carefully and squashed him to his chest. Draedan tolerated this for a few seconds.

"_Put me down, would you, I'm all ssore."_

"_Oh, ssorry,"_ Harry hissed hastily and, sitting down cross-legged, placed Draedan in his lap and stroked his belly. The snake liked this, stretching and grumbling with pleasure. "_What happened to you?"_

"_Oh, thiss and that but mostly that,"_ he said vaguely. _"And I'm sure you would like to hear it, because I have discovered ssomething very sstrange indeed."_

Of course Harry wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear anything Draedan had to say, even if it sounded stupid. He was just so happy his snake was back that he could spend the next two weeks doing nothing but listening to him. _"Tell me,"_ Harry urged.

"_All right, but you'd best get comfortable."_

xxxxx

A/N: Next chapter should be out in two weeks.


	11. The Plan I Am Not Part Of

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed. Looking into my inbox and finding a whole bunch of them just makes my day every time. I'm so glad you love _Little Harry_ as much as I do.

Thought I should also clear up a couple of questions. I'm actually surprised at how many people have been asking me this, considering the subject matter of _Little Harry_:

I don't write slash (nothing wrong with those that do). Therefore, Harry will not pair up with Legolas or Mirdhel in the future. Sorry to disappoint those who really wanted that. There is going to be no romance in this story either. I think Harry's a bit too young for dating at the moment.

Hope you enjoy.

xxxxx

**Chapter Eleven: The Plan I Am Not Part Of**

"_What happened after you sslipped from my neck?"_ Harry asked, lying flat on his stomach on the grass, Draedan still curled up in his right hand.

The little snake peered up. He had very black eyes, Harry observed, as he peered right back. It also seemed to him that Draedan was smiling, but it was very hard to tell. In Harry's experience Draedan had only one expression: bland.

"_Well, the water was rushing all over me and I went down very fast until I felt my tail hit the bottom,"_ said Draedan, wriggling around some to get comfortable. "_That hurt me a little_. _Then_ _I travelled a little way until I ssmashed into some round trees."_

"_Round trees?" _Harry parroted, bewildered.

"_Yess. They ssmelled funny, too. Not at all like regular trees. Some of them ssmelled like they had human food in their stomaches."_

Well, Harry did not know what that meant. Human food in their stomaches? Were there such things as trees that ate food? Mirkwood had giant spiders, so perhaps trees that ate stuff were real as well? Harry would have to investigate it. Then he suddenly remembered that Draedan viewed the world through a snake's eyes, and his idea of trees was probably not Harry's idea.

What smelled like trees?

_Wooden stuff,_ his brain answered for him.

Harry blinked thoughtfully. _Barrels are wooden stuff . . _. It made a stupid sort of sense, now that he thought on it. After all, weren't barrels round? And didn't barrels usually have apples and stuff in them? The barrel in the corner of the kitchen next to the door, where it was all cool and breezy, had apples in it. Harry knew. When the cook had had none in his apron he'd walked over to it and given Harry some.

Was that what Draedan had smelled? Harry had to admit that barrels weren't _that_ strange. Although, how Draedan had stumbled upon them was certainly interesting enough. _"Sso the barrels — I mean the trees — were just ssitting there in the water?"_ Harry asked.

"_Yess, but they were propped up against something. I went through it and fell ssome ways —"_

"_Hang on —"_ said Harry, confused. _"What wass it propped up against? And how could you fall through it?"_

Draedan bit the tip of his tail pensively, then spat it out. _"I don't know, really. It almost looked like a sspider's web, but it wass _much_ harder. I even struck my head on it as the water sswept me out. But I had to ssqueeze through the cracks in between all the round trees before I could do that. Then I wass falling a lot and I hit the river down the bottom. Then I wass outside. And then the river was sweeping me everywhere until I hit a grassy bank and I sslithered onto that."_

"_Could you show me where this iss?" _Harry interrupted quickly as his snake drew a deep breath. He had barely understood what Draedan had said. It would be better to see it with his own eyes.

"_Yess, but you shall have to go to the front where the other hard sspider web is. That wass how I came back in. I wass too little to climb up the rocks behind the waterfall. Every time I tried I just sslipped back down again."_

Other hard spider web? Now Harry was very confused. _"You'll have to point the way, Draedan. I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean."_

"_It should be easy enough."_ Draedan slithered up Harry's arm to curl about his neck. _"I will follow my own sscent. Although, you may have to put me on the ground at ssome point."_

"_All right," _Harry agreed.

He stood, keeping a gentle hand on Draedan just to make sure he was really there. When he turned around Mr Legolas was standing a couple of feet away beside a large flowering shrub, an extremely tall figure with arms crossed and head tilted. Clearly, he had been watching for some time.

Harry couldn't help it. He jumped. "Mr Legolas!"

Draedan hissed into his ear. _"You made me hit my nose!" _he said angrily.

"_Ssorry."_

"'Mister', Harry?" said Mr Legolas, tilting his head even more.

"Sorry," said Harry again. He stood ever so still as Mr Legolas walked towards him, squatted down, and hugged him gently. Harry let himself be hugged, tentatively hugging back; he was still a bit shocked at the elf's unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?" he asked, stupidly, when they drew apart.

Mr Legolas only laughed. "Why, I came to find you of course. And I see we elves need not have worried about you as much. It seems your little Draedan is not dead at all."

"_What iss it? Iss he talking about me?"_ Draedan hissed into his ear.

Harry patted his head absently. _"Yess, now be quiet."_ When he turned to look at Mr Legolas again the elf had tilted his head and seemed to be on the verge of smiling. "No, he's not dead. I only just found him myself. It took him extra long to come back, you see. But Legolas," said Harry, looking up curiously, "how did you know that Draedan had been missing? Did Mirdhel tell you?"

Mr Legolas nodded. "He was very concerned for you. You have been moping about for nigh on three days."

It was not a question. Harry felt his cheeks turn hot. "Only I thought Draedan had been killed," he added in his defence.

"Oh, I am very certain that is reason enough," said Mr Legolas.

Harry was not sure if he was joking or not. He said nothing.

"Harry." Mr Legolas put a hand on his shoulder and Harry looked up. "I must speak with you about something very important."

Harry nodded. He knew what was coming. He had been anticipating this talk for a few days, and now that it was finally here dread curled in his stomach. Mr Legolas was going to give him a stern talking to. Mr Legolas was going to tell him he was in trouble for trespassing where he oughtn't to have trespassed. Mr Legolas was going to be disappointed in him. Harry was no stranger to disappointment — he'd had plenty at the Dursleys — but no grown-up had _ever_ been disappointed in Harry. The Dursleys could not care enough to _be_ disappointed, and the teachers at school had only felt sorry for or angry at him for being a delinquent. Of course Harry's being a delinquent was a complete lie made up by his family, but the teachers didn't know that. For the first time in his life Harry felt the urge to defend himself to a grown-up, to Mr Legolas; though he could not say that he did not deserve the coming reprimand. A little bit. Maybe.

Harry sighed and stared at the ground. Then blinked. He did not really have to listen to it right now did he? If Mr Legolas punished him in a way that meant Harry could not go outside than he wouldn't be able to find the hard spider web of Draedan's _or_ go looking for a way to help the dwarves escape. And that was his first priority. Definitely.

So before Mr Legolas could say anything Harry blurted, "I'm hungry!" then cringed at how rude it had sounded.

The elf stared down at him in silence, eyes flitting; as though he knew what Harry was up to and what he was planning. But how could he? "Very well, Galenmir, we shall continue this talk after lunch," said Mr Legolas in his deep musical voice, then stood, offered a hand to Harry (which Harry took), and led them under the overhanging arch of tree leaves and flowers and out of the garden.

Draedan hissed,_ "Why are you sso nervous?"_

Harry had to squelch an immediate urge not to rub his shoulder against his ear, as Draedan's tongue had poked into it. _"What?"_

"_I can smell you are so don't bother to lie."_

"_I think I'm in trouble,"_ Harry hissed back.

Harry felt Draedan's body curl around his neck even tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "_Because of me?"_ he asked in a small voice.

How do you reassure a snake? _"Not exactly. It wass my fault that I lost you. I should never have tried to run over that board that wass floating on the water."_

"_Why not?"_ Draedan asked curiously.

They entered the corridor that led to the great hall and, before Harry could answer, he almost slipped on the newly polished floors. If it weren't for Mr Legolas's hand holding onto his he would have. Harry thanked him quietly, heart lifting when Mr Legolas answered back. Draedan then licked Harry's face gently to get his attention._ "Because it's dangerous and you almosst got lost and it would have been _my_ fault," _he said to Draedan's enquiring murmur. _"I thought I _had_ killed you." _Again he felt that itching heat in his chest just at the thought of his killing Draedan, and his eyes became hot, and his stomach started jumping strangely, and he felt like he should go hide under the nearest big thing. But all this lasted only a second.

Draedan made a snorting kind of noise. _"I do not think I shall ever understand people. You make everything too confusing for yourselves. Even now your sscent has become afraid again and what iss that doing here!?"_

Harry stared down in the direction Draedan's head had swivelled. All he could see was stone and marble. _"I don't see anything."_

"_Of course he isn't here now,"_ tutted Draedan irritably. _"But he wass not too long ago."_

"_Who?"_ Harry demanded.

"_Why, the sstrange thing I've yet to tell you about. If that elf had not shown up when he did I would have told you already. We could have been at the waterfall by now,"_ he grumped, head plopping onto Harry's shoulder. _"I could have had something to eat. It is very tiring being banged about in the water and then sslithering all the way here, you know."_

Harry hadn't known, but now that he did he felt extra guilty. "Legolas," he ventured, and waited to be acknowledged. When Mr Legolas looked down Harry asked, "Draedan is very hungry; may he have some chicken please?"

"Of course."

"It can't be cooked, though," Harry reminded him.

"Of course not," said Mr Legolas. "We shall stop by the kitchen after lunch."

As they had just entered the great hall, Harry thought this a good idea.

Lots of elves were seated at many long tables. The throne at the biggest, longest, and most elegant table was empty, but Harry knew that Thranduil must have come back with Mr Legolas because the king's personal butler had just walked past with a tray of delicate food in his hand, and then settled the tray on the table before the empty throne. Mr Legolas sat Harry beside Mirdhel at one of the other tables then, with a small stroke of Harry's cheek, left to take his place beside the king's chair.

Harry was used to this. Mr Legolas was a prince and had to sit next to his father when Thranduil wanted to announce something important. Harry wondered what important thing had to be announced today. Almost a week ago it had been the large infestation of orcs travelling from the North and into the East. These the elves had dispatched, but for a few. Harry had never seen an orc in person, so Mirdhel had (reluctantly) shown him a painting from one of the large leather tomes in the library.

Orcs were very ugly; sharp teeth, evil yellow eyes and shrivelled looking skin made up most of the ugliness. Harry had been glad he and Dudley had not run into one in the forest. Even Dudley's ear-splitting wailing would not have saved them then (although, perhaps Harry's stick might have). Harry imagined they would have been eaten. It had not been a very pleasant thought for a seven-year-old to have, and Harry had spent the rest of that afternoon lazing about in the sun and looking at happy things like flittering butterflies and gardening elves, and hugging Draedan to his chest almost savagely.

He had not realised he'd done all this until the next morning, at which point he'd felt very stupid and childish.

But that monsters like that could actually exist on Earth and Harry not know about them was what had really scared him. Suppose he'd wandered outside Number Four one night and met up with one? The thought was enough to give him the collywobbles.

The king walked into the room with his pale hair unbound and flowing down his back; and Harry had to admit he looked very pretty, if not unlike a girl. When he sat in his large throne beside Mr Legolas everyone began to eat. Harry was used to the noise level by now — not at all like in Aunt Petunia's kitchen, where all Harry heard was Dudley demanding more of a particular dish or dessert — and it was pleasantly buzzing. Occasionally elvish laughter sounded from somewhere in the room and Harry would look up, but could never find the source. Elves were always laughing at something anyway, and the sound soothed him now where before it had confused him.

A short time past. Mirdhel filled Harry's plate with some fruit and urged him to eat. But Harry couldn't. He was too busy staring at the now floating piece of cake. Draedan hissed urgently into his ear; Harry listened with increasing disbelief. _This_ was the strange thing Draedan had sensed in the cellars? This invisible thing? Well, Harry would not let it get away from him this time.

As soon as Harry had the thought the cake started bobbing away.

He tried to seem polite and less urgent as he asked Mirdhel if he could be excused to use the toilet. Mirdhel suggested keeping him company on his walk there, and Harry was too anxious to figure out how to tell him no. They walked outside the doors, Harry searching the air fretfully, but seeing nothing. _"He's gone,"_ he hissed quietly to Draedan.

"_No he's not, I can still ssmell him. Just get rid of the tall one and put me on the ground," _declared Draedan imperiously.

But Harry did not know how to get rid of Mirdhel. The elf was too nice and Harry liked him enormously. In the end he somehow managed to avoid the whole issue by pretending he'd left his hood in the garden, then doubling back and letting Draedan nose about the ground for a whiff of his first scent. Draedan became a bit concerned then, as he smelled other scents beneath the strange one, though not recent: a couple of snakes lived around the elf Halls, it seemed, and Draedan, to Harry's confusion, was very angry about this. Especially when he realised that one of the other scents came from a _boy_ snake. Harry constantly had to tell him to be quiet, as his hissing had started getting so loud and long that Harry felt as though a boiling kettle was floating next to his ear.

"_You cannot tell me to be quiet all the time. And I am sstill hungry, you know," _said Draedan irritably.

"_But the strange thing?"_ Harry prodded, feeling very guilty at having forgotten Draedan's chicken and secretly promising to catch him the fattest, juiciest mouse he could.

"_It iss hiding in the room in front of us. I am hungry still."_

Harry did not want to go back to the kitchen; not now, not with so tantalising a secret hidden behind the cupboard, and which could easily escape as soon as he left. But he was also feeling tremendous guilt at having denied Draedan a meal, especially when Harry himself was already pleasantly full. _What to do? _

His magic saved him. A little dead mouse appeared suddenly in his palm. Harry stared it, mouth gaping stupidly. Draedan, however, gave a small, joyful cry at having spotted it and Harry, not particularly relishing being eaten on, set Draedan and the mouse on the ground. Harry had to turn away at that point. He was very fond of his snake, but watching him eat was _yuck!_

Then he turned the knob and blocked the entrance. It was very dark inside, and he could just make out the outline of an old broom. "Hello," he tried. "I know you're there because my snake told me, and I won't hurt you. I promise. Only please let me talk to you. I won't tell the elves."

Harry heard a sigh before —

He jumped back. He couldn't help it. One second there had been nothing; in the next Mr Baggins had appeared. "I suppose I'd best let you, then," sighed Mr Baggins, putting something in his pocket. "And I thought I was very clever, too. I shan't ever be underestimating children again: whether human or hobbit or elvish. Come, sit with me, Mr Potter." He patted the space next to him and Harry, still shocked, sat down without realising.

"Mr Baggins?" he questioned. The hobbit nodded. "But how could you be here? I thought you were in the wood." Come to think of it, now that Harry knew who the invisible thing had turned out to be, it wasn't such a surprise.

"Well, I can become invisible," said Mr Baggins vaguely, patting his pocket, "and I followed everyone in when you were all captured. But I've noticed you have been treated especially well, unlike the poor dwarves."

"The elves like children," Harry explained. But an unaccounted for burst of shame hit him straight in the stomach, then went away just as quickly. He really didn't have anything to be ashamed of, and now he was ashamed because he'd become ashamed before. Harry sighed. He was confusing himself.

Mr Baggins stuffed the rest of the cake into his mouth. "Oh, yes, I know," he said, after he finished swallowing. "They would never think to hurt one so young. Unlike your Dudley. I almost interfered that day, you know, but it was all over with before I could get there."

It took Harry a moment to work out what Mr Baggins meant, then he blinked. The hobbit was sounding very odd and looking very thin. Like he had not eaten a lot.

As if reading his mind, Mr Baggins asked, "You haven't any food in your pockets I suppose? No? Well I shall just have to become a burglar again and raid the kitchens." He laughed weakly. "It is not something I saw myself doing while I smoked in my comfortable hobbit hole. What a dreaded, boring place."

Harry fought the urge to correct him. Mr Baggins after all did not see what Harry saw. Mr Baggins had been lurking in the shadows for a couple of weeks now and had clearly not had any fun. Almost like the dwarves were having no fun in the dungeons — Harry sat up. "Have you seen the dwarves Mr Baggins?"

"Hmm? Oh yes," he smiled kindly. "I found them in the dungeons a few days ago. We are going to escape as soon I find the opportunity. I'd discovered an underground river yesterday, and barrels, and a portcullis which can be lifted by elves." He was speaking almost to himself now. "And when the barrels are empty they shall be rolled through the opening and downriver. Yes, I have a most productive plan in mind. I don't imagine you will wish to come with us, though," he added, smiling again at Harry.

Harry felt his cheeks turn hot.

Mr Baggins laughed. "No, no, my lad, I don't imagine you wish to come with us at all. This life suits you, and the elves know how to take good care of young children. Better than your aunt and uncle at any rate, I think."

Harry looked at him quickly, but Mr Baggins was staring down at his feet. "I was going to rescue the dwarves, Mr Baggins," Harry told him earnestly. "I can still help. I think my snake saw everything you did as well, but he couldn't explain it to me properly." Harry had finally understood what Draedan's hard spider web was. Imagine mistaking spider webs for a portcullis and a gate?

"Oh, I do not know about that . . ." said Mr Baggins.

"I know you think I'm little —" Harry ignored the voice in his head that told him there was no 'think' about it "— but you're little as well, sir, and the elves trust me. I can go with them, really I could. And I can keep an eye on things for you."

But Mr Baggins plainly did not want to involve Harry, if his darting eyes and hemming were anything to go by. "It is only that you are so young, my boy." He smoothed the hair from Harry's cheek. "Little children should not be planning rescue attempts with old hobbits; especially not against the people who have been so kind to him. No, I cannot ask it of you. I shall not ask you to spy for me."

"Oh," said Harry dully. Mr Baggins had not said anything that Harry had not thought of himself. But now that the decision was taken out of his hands he felt much better. The dwarves were going to be rescued after all, and Harry did not have to betray Mr Legolas or Mirdhel or any of the other elves.

Draedan now poked his head beneath the door slit. _"Hello?"_ he hissed. _"I have finished my meal, but am now too fat to crawl under."_

Harry sniggered at this, and the much offended Draedan snapped his jaws a little.

"_If you musst know,"_ he said, in what looked like sniff, _"your two elves are coming down the corridor. I'd hide the sstrange one if I were you, Harry."_

Harry hastily said goodbye to Mr Baggins and closed the cupboard door behind him just as Mirdhel and Mr Legolas halted in front of it.

"Hello!" he said happily.

They were taken aback by this, and glanced at each other.

Harry picked up Draedan, wincing a little as his fingers traced the swallowed mouse beneath the snake skin. "I'm ready to talk now," he said more seriously.

"Indeed?" was all Mirdhel said. He was smiling.

Harry took that as a good sign.

xxxxxxx

A/N: Anyone know what was wrong with this site? I couldn't post this chapter up for days. It just kept telling me: page not found.


	12. Bilbo's Gone and Harry's in Trouble

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Hobbit_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks so much for all your reviews. I got asked a question recently as to whether or not this story will continue for a great length of time: unfortunately, I never planned for _Little Harry_ to be a long story. As a matter of fact there are only a few more chapters to go. I estimate between two to four.

Thank you.

Hope you enjoy.

xxxxxxxx

**Chapter T****welve: Bilbo's Gone and Harry's in Trouble**

"Because you ventured where you were not supposed to, Draedan very almost died. We debated long and hard whether or not to give you punishment, and decided the grief you felt when you assumed he had would be almost sufficient enough," Mr Legolas had said, placing gentle hands on Harry's shoulders and smiling a little. "You know now what you did was wrong, _pen dithen_; but we would not be very good guardians if we did not teach you some sort of a lesson."

So they taught him a lesson, in the elvish way.

Harry took his punishment well considering it wasn't really a punishment to begin with, and Mr Legolas and Mirdhel had seemed _very_ reluctant to punish him at all so Harry had taken to feeling happy about that — and not a little smug. He spent a couple of days cleaning leathers and quivers in the archery forest and the rest of the week helping out at odd tasks in the kitchen. Harry was too little to hold a knife, so he was not permitted to do any peeling. He _was_ allowed to hold a broom (a miniature one), and his job was to sweep the leftover crumbs from under the cooks' feet and out the door. He would also help knead the bread (by his own choice), but because Harry was so little this turned more into him beating the stuffing out of it with his fists rather than doing any actual kneading.

Harry was used to harsher punishments at the Dursleys so, to him, this was the equivalent of taking a pleasant stroll through the park. Mirdhel and Mr Legolas were also pleased because they had begun to feel somewhat guilty; but Harry's obvious enjoyment of his punishment (plus the fact that he had willingly hugged them to show that he didn't blame them in the least) made them feel much better.

Mr Baggins and the dwarves had made their dramatic escape about four days into Harry's punishment. Nearly everyone had gone into the great hall for an important feast (Mirdhel bravely trying some of Harry's lumpy bread) and they'd come back to an empty dungeon. The cry had gone up and the whole palace had spent the rest of the night searching the Halls, for the dwarf party were somewhere in the caves it had to be true; no one could venture out of the magic gates except Thranduil and Legolas. This opinion was quickly changed when it became obvious that the dwarves had done just that. This produced much awe. But how? How could it be possible? They must have had some sort of magic to help them escape, surely? Some heads turned in Harry's direction then, but Mirdhel glared until, abashed, they looked away. Harry, his head on Mirdhel's shoulder, ignored this as best he could. He had pretended to be asleep as soon as they heard about the escape. Out of the entire palace he was the only one who knew what had really happened. He wasn't about to tell, though. He tried very hard to keep from giving himself away out of guilt.

King Thranduil was livid.

His own personal butler, Galion, and the chief of the guards, Calaglin — an elf whom Harry had gotten to know only vaguely — were in disgrace. King Thranduil was very, very angry at them. Harry even overheard Mr Legolas saying to Mirdhel the next day that he had never seen his father this aggravated in a _long_ time.

But what had they done?

Harry had asked and got told by Urúvion that Calaglin had fallen asleep while on guard duty because both he and the butler had borrowed some of the king's personal Dorwinion wine — they had been found snoring happily in the stockroom by a group of confused elves. It seemed the dwarves had escaped by locking themselves inside barrels, and waiting for the group of elves to roll them through the trapped doors that led to the underground river where Draedan had almost drowned. Then the elves had opened the portcullis and the barrels had rolled downriver. King Thranduil, upon finding out this information, had immediately sent scouts to look for the dwarves, despite not knowing how exactly they escaped _out_ of their separate dungeon cells in the first place. That had been this morning. They were still not back yet.

"I don't think they'll find them." Harry stood on tiptoe to look over the kitchen bench and observe the dusty kneading of the head cook. Flour made its lazy way up his nose and Harry sneezed a little.

The head cook was almost smiling. "What makes you think that?"

"I think they have a secret weapon," said Harry innocently.

The head cook stopped kneading and looked at Harry very gravely indeed. "You _think_ they have a secret weapon?" he asked.

"Yes. Otherwise how else could they have escaped?"

The head cook seemed to unstiffen. "Ah, very true. Although, if they do have one, we surely would have found it when first we captured them." He bit his lip, long pale hair swaying forward with the movement of his kneading. "You know the dwarves well, do you not, Harry?"

"Oh no," said Harry. "I met them in the forest and they saved me. That was only for a day."

"But they are your friends?"

"They are. You have very pretty eyes," said Harry suddenly. Then ducked his head.

Violet eyes blinked slowly. "I forget, oftimes, how children can be captured by such trifling things." He smiled and leaned down a little, hands still wrist deep in dough. "Thank you. I like them very well indeed. Your eyes hold beauty in them, too. Do not tell me no one has ever told you that?"

"Well," Harry licked his lips. "Legolas and Mirdhel call me _Galenmir_. So I suppose I get told a lot, then."

"I suppose you do."

The kneading continued for a while longer. The head cook then put the ball of large dough into a baking pot for rising. It would sit there next to the warm stone oven until it ballooned enormously, and then an elf would put it in. The head cook now moved for Harry so that Harry could sweep the flour out from under his feet.

"And where is Draedan this noon?" asked the head cook.

Harry followed him around the kitchen and to a middle isle. There were knifes and all sorts of pots and utensils hanging from the ceiling over it. The head cook selected a particularly sharp looking knife and began slicing a bread with it. Harry stared with his chin resting heavily on the wooden counter. "I left him in the garden to keep Mirdhel company. He likes it there better than in the kitchen."

"I should say so. For one thing it is quieter." He glared disapprovingly at an elf who had just knocked over a large plate full of roasted mushrooms. The elf had managed to catch it very quickly, though, but with his foot; this was because he was also holding two jugs in both hands.

"Wow," Harry said.

The elf, hearing this, grinned at him. Harry grinned back. Then the elf quickly scuttled away, holding aloft the water-filled jugs to escape the glowering eye of the cook. A short while later Harry saw him loading up more pitchers onto a small cart. These would later be rolled into the great hall and placed along the tables.

Harry sneaked out of the kitchen under the direction of the head cook's sly wink and wandered about the corridors for something to do. He could not go into the garden and fetch Draedan because Mirdhel would see him there and ask why he wasn't in the kitchen, so Harry decided to go to the treasury. There were no elves standing guard at the door when he arrived — Wood-elves were trusting creatures, but only to their own kind — so Harry was able to slip in quite easily. He knew he wasn't allowed in here, but he didn't want to steal anything except his stick, which belonged to Harry anyway.

Once he was inside, looking at all the many no doubt treasure-filled chests, he paused.

_It isn't very nice of me to come here_, Harry thought, biting his lip. Mr Legolas and Mirdhel wouldn't be at all pleased if they found out — and hadn't he already gotten in trouble for being where he wasn't supposed to be? With a small sigh, Harry stepped back out, closing the door gently behind him. He would not look for his stick. Perhaps King Thranduil would give it to him when Harry asked for it, and Harry would.

That night another feast was in progress, but the atmosphere was full of hushed whispers. No one wanted to anger the king by saying how maybe, slightly impressive the dwarves' escape had been. Especially as the raft-elves downriver had also missed the party of twelve —thirteen, by Harry's count — when King Thranduil's scouts had caught up with them. It seemed the previous night the raft-elves and raft-men had tied off the very barrels in which the dwarves were snuggled inside, but hadn't thought to look in them because it was so dark. They also reported some rather mysterious behaviour, ghostly behaviour (Mr Legolas had looked curiously at Harry then), with sneezes being heard, and water dripping from nowhere, and things being stolen — namely a pie, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. This was to have been part of an elf's supper.

So now the barrels were still rushing downriver. Likely, Mr Legolas pondered, they would end up in Lake Town. This would be the best time and place to apprehend them. Unless the Master of Lake Town disallowed it, or the barrels got smashed on the way and all the dwarves died, or the barrels somehow caught on an embankment and rolled into the forest before smashing, or they filled up with water and sunk to the bottom of the river — Mr Legolas stopped abruptly upon seeing Harry's white face, then leaned down and planted a kiss on his head.

"Ai, you are so little and quiet, Galenmir," said Mirdhel, smoothing back Harry's hair. "Legolas meant nothing by his words. He simply forgot you were there."

Of course, this did not make Harry feel better in the least.

When Mr Legolas saw this his shoulders stiffened. Then he picked Harry up and put him in his lap. His large hand cradled the back of Harry's head as he brought his face in extra close. The scent of spring and happiness invaded Harry's nostrils, and he fought the urge to turn his head and bury his face into Mr Legolas's hair. He lost. "I must explain something to you, Harry, before you think me too callous."

Harry nodded. He was very aware of Urúvion's inquisitive stare and, beside him, Wilwarin's.

"I am a prince. More than that, I am a warrior prince. It is natural for me to look at a situation from all angles."

Harry nodded. The group of elves sitting around them weren't even pretending to mind their own business anymore. Clearly they thought it odd that Harry liked dwarves so much.

"Hither and thither the dwarves may go, and the barrels with them; whether they make it to safety is yet to be determined. All I wanted was to say that, my little Harry. Nothing more. Nor did I mean to imply many a foul fate upon your friends. Nay, never that. Please forgive me."

Harry hugged him. Of course Harry forgave him. This was Mr Legolas. Mr Legolas was never mean. He was one of the kindest elves ever. "Don't worry Legolas." Harry patted him on the shoulder. "You don't need to be sad anymore. I forgive you."

Mr Legolas grinned and the whole room lit up.

Harry ate. Sweet potatoes and mushrooms and all sorts of things Dudley would hate, but that tasted delicious all the same. When it was time for Harry to go to bed (Draedan complaining grumpily about the lack of heat from Harry's wrist) a group of elves wandered in through doors of the great hall and made their way immediately to the king's table, bowed a little, and spoke softly. They looked slightly waterlogged, one even had bits of twig in his hair, but other than that they were still very pretty. An elf at the far table started whispering, and all others followed instantly. Elves were nosy creatures, like Harry, and were wondering aloud what was going on. Harry heard Wilwarin commenting to an elf beside her about the king's scouts. This must have been them.

With a wave of his hand King Thranduil then summoned Mr Legolas. Harry, who was holding Mr Legolas's hand at the time, was forced to go with him.

"Very well! We shall see!" They heard the king saying to the scout-elves as they came up to the table. "No treasure will come back through Mirkwood without my having something to say in the matter. But I expect they will all come to a bad end, and serve them right!"

The scout-elves bowed and left; one even ruffling Harry's hair affectionately on his way past.

"My Lord."

Harry looked up at Mr Legolas, surprised. There was annoyance in those words.

"Legolas," said the king, raising a moonlight brow.

Mr Legolas looked on steadily. "You wished to see me father."

"Walk with me. You may bring the little one." The king gestured for them to follow, but not before giving Harry a quiet sort of look. Harry, stupid though he felt to admit it, wanted to press himself against Mr Legolas's leg again; he suddenly felt as though he had done something. Why else would the king stare at him like that? And as they walked silently through the corridors it occurred to Harry that he had never been this near to Thranduil before.

He was even prettier up close, and looked so much like Mr Legolas that Harry paused for a few seconds to stare at his face, almost tripping over his feet.

King Thranduil's room did not look anything different than Harry's room, except that it was _much_ bigger. He led them over to his GIANT writing table. It was made of white wood and looked very impressive: Uncle Vernon certainly would have thought so. Harry looked about but could not find any other chairs to sit in so Mr Legolas lifted him into his lap.

King Thranduil poured some wine for himself and Mr Legolas, and water for Harry. When at last the three were settled comfortably the king leaned back in his chair and spoke. "I find myself in a quandary, Legolas."

"You do?" said Mr Legolas.

"Perhaps only our little friend here can help."

Harry blinked. The king had nodded at—at him. "Me, sir?"

The jewelled ring on the king's finger — the exact colour of the berries on his crown — glinted red in the candlelight as he lifted his goblet for a small sip. "Indeed. My scouts reported seeing the dwarves in Lake Town, even going so far as to feast with them, but they also reported something else. Another creature sat with the dwarves that was no dwarf — hardly a dwarf — and I am now wondering why we never managed to capture it, for plainly it has been with the dwarves all along, even in Mirkwood! It was this creature that helped the dwarves escape. And it occurred to me that you must have known of this creature, little Maia. Indeed, must have spoken with it at some point."

A cold swooping enveloped Harry's stomach. Looking into the king's face, Harry knew. Harry knew that the king knew that he knew, and no amount of talking and looking innocent would get him out of this one.

From his position around Harry's wrist Draedan licked Harry's pulse gently, smelling his nervousness.

Harry looked down at a particularly odd groove in the king's desk, pushing at it slowly with his fingers. "He's not a creature, Your Majesty, sir. He's my friend."

Mr Legolas tightened his arm about Harry's stomach. Harry squeezed his fingers back.

King Thranduil raised a brow. "Your friend?"

Harry thought it would be better to tell the truth. He didn't normally lie and was not about to start now. After all, it was King Thranduil who had allowed him to stay in Mirkwood with Mr Legolas and Mirdhel. It was King Thranduil who had given him a home among the elves. "Yes, sir, he's my friend. He helped rescue me from the forest, too. And I didn't help the dwarves escape, sir, if that's what you want to know. I did talk to Mr Baggins for a bit, but I didn't help him."

The king stared at him, resting his curved chin on interlocked fingers. "I believe you, Harry."

"Oh," said Harry.

"But that does not rule out the fact that you neglected to mention his presence to your guardians or myself —"

"Forgive me, Father, but he did," said Mr Legolas.

"Oh?" the king said.

"He mentioned to me a while ago of a ghostly presence in the Halls, stealing food from the tables —" At this point Harry looked quickly at Mr Legolas. Harry had not told him _that_! "— and that presence could easily have been this Mr Baggins creature."

"Hobbit," Harry corrected.

Mr Legolas smiled. "Hobbit."

The king sighed and leaned back in his chair, still graceful. "I like it not, but there is naught I can do for the present. Though how a — hobbit, did you say? — has managed to pass under the gaze of my elves, including my son, and creep into the palace like some sort of slippery thing I shall never know."

"What do you know of the dwarves now?" asked Mr Legolas, shifting Harry so that he was cuddled against his chest.

Thranduil observed this but didn't comment. "The folk of Lake Town think the dwarves will be fighting Smaug to get their treasure back." The king, very oddly, snorted. "I doubt that. In fact I strongly suspect attempted burglary or something like it. No doubt that is what this Mr Baggins is for. And if he has managed to spend a month in my Halls with no one the wiser, I can easily imagine him sneaking into the Lonely Mountain under Smaug's sleepy eye.

"But dragons have very good noses, so I don't know what will be the outcome," he finished.

"The dwarves are very brave," Harry put in shyly. They had rescued him after all. And Dudley.

The king's sharp gaze collided with his own. "I very much doubt so, young Harry," he said, coldly. "Dwarves care for nothing but digging and darkness. Likely they were kind to you simply because you are a child."

That made Harry angry. It seemed to him that the elves only liked him because he was a child, too. "Does that mean you would have thrown me in the dungeons if I wasn't a child?" Harry asked tersely.

King Thranduil stared at him, at loss for words.

"Father!" said Mr Legolas sharply.

"Of course not!" The king's cheeks were a little pink.

"I like dwarves," said Harry.

"And I am not stopping you from liking them. You can like them if you wish," said King Thranduil, calming down some. "It is just that elves . . . are not so fond of them."

"But why?" asked Harry. He wasn't trying to be annoying, he just didn't understand. "They haven't done anything. They just walked where they weren't supposed to."

"Oh no," said the king. "This dislike goes back a long while. And it is not just we elves that dislike dwarves; dwarves dislike us, too. I say good riddance to them, but I am going to get some of that treasure! It is not fair that only dwarves should have it!"

This angered Harry so much — who, in his brain, thought the king was being very unfair — that it took him a while to notice all the candles had gone out and the pretty white writing table was now hopping up and down on its own, as though trying to get away from the king. King Thranduil and Mr Legolas jumped out of their seats in terror, Mr Legolas's hand still wrapped tightly about Harry's stomach, and Harry's feet swinging like a pendulum in the open air.

As soon as they had done this the table, giving a small, excited, creaking sort of grunt (like doors scraping against their hinges) jumped once more, this time quite high and, in a series of small fast hops, jerked away from them and out the open doors and down the corridor. The elves who had been walking past gave little cries of terror or shock. Harry heard the echoing _thumpity-tap_ of the table's legs as it hopped and skipped down the hall.

The king, snapping out of his daze, rushed out of the room, his robes flying behind him. Mr Legolas ran after him, Harry still dangling from his arm.

"Catch it!" King Thranduil shouted, running swiftly down the hall past the still shocked and bemused elves. "That table is priceless, do you hear me! Let nothing happen to it!"

But something _did_ happen to it.

After an hour of chasing the table — once cornering it in the West Corridor (a dead end) — it finally dove into the gardens, startling Mirdhel and Company, and smashed against a particularly fat tree, where it broke its leg. There it lay, groaning and creaking, until, with one final jerk (where it spat out a few hundred splinters as a sort of last defence) it stilled.

"Is it dead?" asked an elf.

"Don't be a fool," said another at once. "How can a table be dead?" But he didn't look so sure.

King Thranduil was the first to approach it, though he toed it a little before deigning to touch it. Soon it was packed up and carried back into the Halls to the Wood Room, the elves carrying it already having composed a song about the incident; their voices rising and lowering prettily, and fading the deeper they ventured.

"That table was a gift from your mother," said King Thranduil finally, staring at nothing.

"I know," said Mr Legolas.

"Perhaps you were trying to teach me a lesson, little Harry." The king faced him very quickly. "Taking something from me, as I would take something from the dwarves?"

Harry, who was now on the verge of crying, tried to stick out his chest bravely. He groped for Mr Legolas's hand behind him but only encountered his thigh. He gripped that instead. "I didn't mean to," he whispered.

He was very surprised when the king smiled at him. "I know. And the damage is not unrepairable. Perhaps I did deserve it, perhaps I did not. Nonetheless, the matter stands thus: we cannot go on like this anymore."

A tear rolled down Harry's cheek. "We can't?" he whispered. His voice shook. _Where's Mr Legolas's hand?_

The king shook his head. "Nay, we cannot. You must learn control of your magic, at the soonest possible opportunity."

Harry felt relief rush over him so completely that he almost fell over. Mr Legolas caught him from behind and held him to his chest.

"We, none of us, have never before witnessed what happened today." The surrounding group of elves all nodded and murmured at the king's words. "It is clear to all of us that you are special even amongst the special. You will be something some day, Harry Potter, and I shall help you achieve that milestone. Come." The king held out a strong hand to Harry who, with a slight nudge from Mr Legolas, accepted it. "We shall talk, you and me, and decide which wizard would be best suited to your purpose. Although, I can think of only one. What is this?"

King Thranduil was staring at Harry's wrist, where a small green head had poked out from under his sleeve.

"Draedan," said Harry.

The resulting look he got from the king was blank.

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A/N: I borrowed about two quotes from _The Hobbit_. One was directly quoted, one not directly. They are not mine.


End file.
